


Ohana

by orphan_account



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Christmas Feels, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Sharing a Bed, Thanksgiving Feels, lyatt, time team feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2018-11-06 08:59:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11032941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: In 1876 two men are killed.  In 1949 there's one less birth. In 1991 a woman isn't killed in a car accident on her way home from work.In 2017 Hurricane Jennifer sweeps through. And Wyatt's life is changed forever.





	1. Chapter 1

Bullets cut through the air, screaming past their heads, hitting trees, barely missing them. The resounding clunk of one bouncing off the lifeboat riled Wyatt, and he growled as he returned fire, covering Rufus while he opened the door so they could flee from this hellhole and return home. He was already pissed, at Emma, for sending her goons after them while she escaped back to the future. Now they were hitting the lifeboat, aiming for his friend, and damn if he wasn’t going to take every single one of them out for that.  
Except… he’d promised Lucy he wouldn’t shoot one person in particular, and he wasn’t excited about being verbally ripped to shreds if he broke that promise. So he was trying really damn hard to only take down the bastards protecting the biggest bastard of them all, but if they kept aiming for Rufus he’d be damned if he continued to care who he hit.  
  
“Go, Lucy,” he told her, both crouched down behind a fallen log, heads ducked and out of the way of the oncoming rounds. “Now. Run.” He turned and fired off shots while Lucy pushed herself to her feet and fled, running for the lifeboat that Rufus was already inside.  
  
He fired, and turned to make a run for it, when another bullet screamed past him, and he ducked his head again – and heard a yelp. Turning, he saw Lucy on her knees, head hanging forward, her right hand clutching her left arm.  
  
“Shit,” he cursed, turning and firing while he stumbled back. He aimed for two men in particular, and felt the smug tug of victory as they fell. “You okay?” he asked, knowing she was injured but hoping she could still stand, walk, clamber into the lifeboat. When she groaned in pain and shook her head, he reached for her good arm, and helped her to her feet. “Rufus,” he yelled, “Help Lucy in.” He boosted her up while Rufus wrapped his arms around her and she was soon sprawled on the floor of the lifeboat, eyes closed tight, tears leaking from the sides.  
  
Wyatt stumbled in after her, firing off a couple of final shots as the door closed. He turned, to find her now curled on her side, still gripping her arm as her blood seeped out from between her fingers and stained the grey metal floor of the lifeboat claret. Bullets pinged off the outside, but he ignored it. “Rufus, the first aid kit,” he ordered the pilot as he crouched beside Lucy. He laid a gentle hand on her arm, just above her wound, and said her name.  
  
“Am I dead?” she asked, her voice broken from the pain washing through her.  
  
Wyatt shook his head. “No, but you did take a bullet there, Lucy. Can I look?” he asked.  
  
She attempted to sit, but the pain forced her back down again. Groaning, she said. “If you must."  
  
The first aid kit now at his side, Wyatt covered her hand with his and gently pried her fingers away from the wound she’d been holding. Even through the pain she’d had the good sense to keep pressure on it. Blood still seeped from the angry, red gash, but he’d seen a lot worse. “It’s just a graze,” he told her.  
  
She huffed out a pained sigh. “The words ‘just’ and ‘graze’ do not belong in the same sentence.”  
  
Covering it with gauze, he wrapped a bandage around it, enough to keep her from bleeding all over herself during the trip home. “You doing okay?” he asked.  
  
“Woozy.”  
  
“You okay to sit up? Get into your chair?”  
  
“With help,” she admitted.  
  
“No problem.” He wrapped an arm around her, with Rufus on her other side, both helping her to her feet. They guided her into her seat, and Wyatt snapped her seatbelts into place, his eyes on her, while Rufus started up the machine.  
  
Her chin dipped, and she heaved in a deep breath, before she lifted her head again. “Did Custer shoot me?”  
  
“Maybe. You’re lucky it didn’t take your arm off. Those bullets meant business.”  
  
“Did you shoot him?”  
  
“He’s a world class sonofabitch, but you made me promise not to kill him, so I didn’t.”  
  
He face contorted in pain, but she kept her voice even, speaking between clenched teeth, as she said, “He’ll be dead by the end of the month anyway, but thank you.”  
  
“I did take out two of his buddies though,” he admitted.  
  
“Wyatt,” she bemoaned.  
  
“Well it was them or us, okay?” He snapped his seatbelts into place just seconds before the intense rattling indicated they were about to be fired through the wormhole. He hated this part. He watched Lucy slumping in her seat, her body like a ragdoll as she was flung forward when they landed in 2017. He always tried to brace himself for that moment, scared one day they’d knock heads, even though their restraints stopped them from being forced that close to one another. Watching her now he was more thankful than ever for the seatbelts.  
It was shock. He knew. He’d seen it enough. And the gash on her arm was bad enough to require stitches. But she hadn’t fainted yet (and he was rather proud of her for that) although he suspected her lunch might be about to revisit her.  
  
The machine powered down and he yelled for a medic out the opening door as he undid his seatbelt and moved to help her. Rufus was at his side, and together they guided their wobbly historian to the door.  
  
Wyatt changed while they patched her up, and realized then that his cellphone wasn’t in his locker. Had he put it there? Had he even brought it to the base? He frowned as he searched through the contents of his locker. Maybe it was in his car?  
Car keys and wallet shoved into the pockets of his jeans, he headed back to the infirmary, to find Lucy sitting up, arm professionally bandaged, eyes a little glassy, her face lighting up when she saw him.  
  
“I can’t feel a thing,” she told him as he approached the bed she sat on.  
  
He chuckled. “Yeah, they’ve got the good drugs here.”  
  
“Did we change anything?” she asked, her voice soft. “Did Emma?”  
  
“Custer still died on June 25th,” he told her. “I checked, just for you.”  
  
“Thank you.” Her lips turned down and lines appeared at the bridge of her nose. “And thank you for not shooting him.”  
  
“Only because you asked me not to,” he replied, before adding, “ma’am,” to make her smile. When he achieved that, he asked, “You ready to leave?”  
  
“Yeah. I was waiting for my ride.”  
  
“Oh, well, I’ll leave you then, since you have Rufus…” He acted like he was leaving, turning to walk away, teasing her because it made her drug-hazed eyes sparkle and her lips curl up.  
  
Laughing, Lucy said, “You’re my ride.”  
  
“I guess I can do that." He winked at her. "Any instruction from the doc?”  
  
Worrying her lower lip between her teeth as she tried to remember, she released it and recited, “I need to come back in twenty-four hours to have the dressing changed.”  
  
Wyatt shook his head. “I can do that, you don't need to come back.” He helped her down, sticking close to her side as she stepped tentatively on wobbly legs, his hand curling around her elbow, guiding her down the corridors.  
  
She remained quiet during the drive to her place, the day catching up with her and her eyelids growing heavy. He walked her to her front door, but she stopped him from going any further, shaking her head and putting a finger to his chest.  
  
“Nope. Rittenhouse mom, remember. You don’t want to come inside.”  
  
His eyebrows drew together at her words. He hated that reminder. He hated that she had to deal with that every day now, and she didn’t have her sister there to support her. But, she had a healthy mom, who was part of her life, and so he couldn’t hate the situation completely. It was more than he had. More than he’d had in a long, long time. “You gonna be okay?”  
  
“She’s my mom, Wyatt. Despite it all we’re still family. I’ll be fine. But,” she said as she fished around in her pocket for her keys, “I’ll come to your place tomorrow, to change the dressing. If that’s okay?”  
  
“We can order pizza, watch a crappy movie, make an evening of it.”  
  
She smiled. “That sounds good. Thank you.”  
  
“See you tomorrow. Six PM.”  
  
She nodded and unlocked the door, giving him one last thankful smile before disappearing inside.  
  
No matter what he thought of the woman he’d never met, Lucy at least had someone looking out for her tonight, and it was a comforting enough thought to allow his legs to take him back to his car, even if he did look back, three times, before he bridged the distance.  
  
And once more before driving away. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday, Superlc529!! I wanted to get this chapter out while it's still your birthday where you are <3 I hope you had an amazing day <3  
> Funnily enough, although it's a different date here, it's my sister's birthday today too :)

  
  
“Lucy, would you just… sit still. Please.”  
  
She squirmed on his couch, regretting her decision to let him be the one to change the dressing on her upper arm where the bullet had grazed her. She’d been quite happy to have the medic at the base do it the next morning. But Wyatt had insisted, having changed many a dressing in his time. And the offer of food and a movie hadn’t sounded like an entirely awful way to spend an evening. Especially if he was with her.  
  
“It hurts,” she reminded him, flinching as his hand swept past her peripheral vision.  
  
“I haven’t touched you yet. I’ll be gentle. I promise.”  
He sat beside her, gauze in sterile wrappers on his lap, fingers poised, hovering near her arm, ready to begin the process.  
  
She heaved in a steadying breath, but she wasn't ready to do this, not quite. “You find your phone yet? I tried calling you.”  
  
He shook his head. “It’s here somewhere. On silent, of course.”  
  
“Use Find My iPhone,” she suggested.  
  
“It’s not turned on,” he admitted.  
  
She exhaled a sigh that showed her disappointment, even though it was well-meaning, and asked, “Well, where did you see it last?”  
  
Finding the edges of the sticky waterproof covering on her arm, he eased the corner away from her skin, moving slow so not to pull at her stitches. “Don’t you think if I knew that I’d have my phone right now?”  
  
Lucy worried her lower lip, her eyes darting down to where his careful fingers were sweeping across her skin as the adhesive was peeled away. “You need your phone, Wyatt. What if Emma takes the mothership out.”  
  
“You’ll turn up on my doorstep and let me know.”  
  
“True, but no,” she said, suddenly pushing herself to her feet and away from his fingers, lucky he hadn't had a grip on the corner at the time. “I’ll help you find it.”  
  
He smirked at her. “I know what you’re doing.”  
  
“I’m helping you find your phone,” she said, shifting the cushions and feeling down the back of the couch.  
  
“More like you’re stalling,” he told her, watching her as she ignored him and crouched down, looking under the couch now. “We’re changing that dressing tonight whether you like it or not.”  
  
“Fine, okay. But phone first.” She stood, and glanced around, ignoring his smirking face. “Bedroom?” she asked.  
  
He cocked an eyebrow.  
  
“Oh shut up,” she huffed. “I didn’t mean it like that.”  
  
“Admittedly, that might be the last place I saw my phone,” he agreed, standing now, lips pursed in thought. He’d taken the call from Agent Christopher while in bed, only half awake as his boss ordered him in. It might still be in there somewhere. He blinked, and Lucy was already out of the room and heading for his bedroom. It was a small apartment; she knew where the bedroom was, despite never having stepped foot in it. Had he made his bed? Left underwear on the floor? He could explain away that box of tissues by the bed with that cold he’d had last week – right?  
  
He hurried to catch up with her, and almost walked right into her as she exited the bedroom, cellphone in hand. “Here,” she said, dropping it in his hands. “And vacuum under your bed.”  
She moved past him and muttered, “Now let’s get this over with,” before dropping down on the couch. All he could do was stand and smile, shaking his head at how fast she’d found it.  
Not that he’d really put much effort into finding it. The silence had been nice.  
He didn’t look at it, didn’t bother checking for missed calls, just stuffed it in his pocket and joined her on the couch.  
  
His fingers took hold of the outer edge of the dressing already freed from her skin, ready to continue, when a knock sounded at his door. He pulled his hand back and met her eyes as she turned to face him. “Pizza?” he asked, surprised.  
  
“I ordered it five minutes ago,” she told him, shaking her head. “Can’t be.”  
  
“Who is it?” he yelled, the timbre of his voice making Lucy jump. “Sorry,” he said gently.  
  
“It’s Jenn,” a woman called back.  
  
“Who?” he returned.  
  
“Your sister, you jackass. Open the door.”  
  
He blinked several times in quick succession. “My what now?” he asked Lucy.  
  
Lucy frowned. “You have a sister?”  
  
“Uh… no,” he replied. “I definitely do not have a sister.”  
  
She grimaced. “Maybe you do now?”  
  
His mouth opened, to say what exactly he didn’t know, he barely knew what to think. He was graced with a little more time to remember how syntax worked when the voice rang out again, muffled through the wooden door, but still painfully loud and persistent.  
  
“Wyatt? I swear if you don’t open the door I’m using my key,” the woman called out. “You know, that one I claim I don’t have, because you’re an idiot who can’t return a phone call.”  
  
Digging his phone out of his pocket, he checked the screen – to find five missed calls from a ‘Jenn’, a name that hadn’t been in his phone the last time he had checked it, and a half dozen or so increasingly annoyed texts. “This is new,” he muttered, showing Lucy the phone before pushing himself to his feet. “What has Emma done this time?”  
  
“Maybe it was us,” Lucy mused. She read the messages, and scrolled through, smiling as another name appeared, with a worried message beneath it.  
  
He moved to the front door and opened it a crack. Two angry eyes of a familiar shade of blue stared back at him. But the resemblance went beyond that, and goosebumps pricked at his arms as he took in the woman on his doorstep.  
  
“You gonna let me in?”  
  
He opened the door fully, and studied her, marveling at this strange mix of his parents, at this softer, feminine version of himself. She didn’t wait for an invitation, she just barreled in, fire in her eyes, long brown hair streaming behind her.  
  
Stopping mid-way into the room, turning, she said, “Mom’s pissed, or as pissed as mom gets when it comes to her favorite child.” Jenn rolled her eyes. “Told her I’d come make sure you weren’t dead. Seriously, Wyatt,” she said, her hands on her hips now, “how hard is it to answer your damn phone.”  
  
“Uh…” It was all he could manage. Same eyes; same nose, just a smaller, more petite version, passed on from their dad. Same lips. A face that looked uncannily like photos of his mom in her early twenties. That voice… She sounded like his mom too, her voice saved on the cassette tapes she had recorded, that he still listened to sometimes. His mom, reading him stories, his own, child’s voice, helping read along, slow but growing in confidence over the two years she had taped them reading.     
  
Rolling her eyes again, the woman sighed and strode into his kitchen. “I’m starving by the way. And, God, Lucy,” she called out from the other room, startling both Wyatt and Lucy, “could you buy him some food because I swear he lives on take-out.”  
  
“Congratulations, you have a sister,” Lucy said, smiling. “Who knows me,” she added, pleasantly surprised by that revelation.  
  
“My mom is pissed,” he said, wonder in his voice.  
  
“Okay…?” Lucy said, not understanding why he sounded so happy about that.  
  
Cabinets banged in the next room. The fridge opened. Closed. Opened again. Closed again. She shook something from a box.  
  
“My mom died when I was seven,” he said as he walked back over the couch, needing to sit down before his legs buckled.  
  
“Oh, Wyatt…” she said, a mix of sadness and joy in her voice, understanding then why he’d never mentioned her before. She handed him the phone and pointed to the message with ‘mom’ at the top. “There’s her number.”  
  
Wyatt felt tears prick at his eyes and he blinked them away before they could fall. “What is happening?”  
  
“Mom?” Jenn’s voice filtered back in. “Wyatt’s fine.” She wandered back into the room, phone pressed to her ear, a bowl of cereal in her hands. “Yeah, I dunno. But he’s fine. Lucy’s here. You wanna say hi to either of them?”  
  
Lucy blinked, looking at Wyatt in surprise. “I talk to your mom?” she mouthed.  
  
Wyatt could only shrug, a weird hazy feeling washing over him.  
Oh, shock. Right. He knew this feeling.  
  
“Okay, yeah, better go to your book club then. I’ll tell her you said hi. Night, mom.” She ended the call and looked at Lucy. “Mom says hi.”  
  
“Uh, hi back?” she asked, fumbling over the words. She looked to Wyatt, but he was staring straight ahead at nothing, lips parted, his hand shaking. Reaching over, she laid her own hand over his, to soothe the shake, and it seemed to snap him out of his daze, his head turning, giving Lucy a slight nod that possibly wanted to say, ‘I’m okay’, but said everything but.  
  
“Jenn?” Wyatt said, managing to speak the name with an even voice, catching his sister’s attention. “You’re twenty… remind me again? How old you are.”  
  
She sighed. “Twenty-four, for the last time. Seriously, you’d think by now you’d remember. Nine years difference, idiot. Not hard.”  
  
Nine years. His mom had survived and had another kid. To the same dead-beat guy, it seemed. But his mom was alive, which meant she’d survived the car accident, when a drunk had missed the stop sign and plowed into the side of her car, flipping it, killing her. She’d survived – or the accident had never happened at all.  
  
Jenn, oblivious to the atmosphere in the room, made herself comfortable on the couch, bowl of cereal on her lap, her eyes on Lucy’s arm. “What happened?”  
  
“Bullet,” Lucy told her, glancing down at her arm as she spoke.  
  
“Wow, that’s hardcore.” She scooped a spoonful of the cereal into her mouth and said while she munched on it, “I’ll never understand why a historian needs military protection.” At Lucy’s hesitation she added, “And I know you’ll never tell me.” She turned her eyes to her brother. “You kind of failed at protecting her there.”  
  
“Hey, she’s not dead,” Wyatt fired back, some of his usual haughtiness back in his voice, because despite his words and the fact he could feel Lucy’s surprised eyes on him, it flowed naturally, like he was arguing with a sibling.  
Christ.  
He was arguing with a sibling.  
  
“Yeah,” Lucy said, breathing the word out on a little laugh, recognizing what was happening. She shook her head at Wyatt and then turned and smiled at Jenn. “We’ve got pizza coming.” She ignored Wyatt’s grunt of protest.  
  
“Oh thank god,” Jenn muttered, putting the bowl on the coffee table. “That box of cheerios was about two months past its best by date.”  
  
“I’ll take him out for groceries tomorrow, I promise.”  
  
Turning, Jenn gave Wyatt a pointed look. “You’re lucky to have her.”  
  
He nodded. “I know.” It felt like something Jenn might have said to him often. He was getting a sense of their relationship, and despite her words, the names she called him, there was a softness in her eyes now she knew he was okay. He wondered if she’d soften more once she was over her annoyance, or maybe they always bickered like this, because Jenn had inherited their father’s bull-headed stubbornness – which Wyatt refused to admit to having any of. And his mom, what was she like now? He became acutely aware then of all the years with his mom he had missed; all the years spent being an only child, and now…  
He stood, and forced his legs to carry him to the kitchen, where he filled a glass with water and downed it in several gulps. If she didn’t look and sound so much like his mom, he’d be handling this better – because he wouldn’t believe it for a second.  Placing the glass down heavily on the bench, he felt himself sway and gripped the countertop until his knuckles turned white. He had a sister. His mom was alive. He had… family. Real family. Not that Rufus and Lucy weren’t family, but this was blood, a mother, a sister. He’d never get used to thinking that; he could barely say it out loud. After his Grandpa Sherwin had passed away, he thought he’d lost everything. Until Jessica. Then he’d lost it all again.  But not… not anymore. He had two families now. He blinked the tears away, released his hold on the counter, and turned back into the living room, his eyes focusing as he walked. When he dared himself to look towards the couch, he found Lucy watching him with wide, doe-like eyes. He tried to smile, but he was too shocked by the evenings events to give her more than a watery half-smile. Jenn, ignoring them both, was flicking through the TV channels, her feet on the coffee table beside the discarded bowl, completely at home.  
  
Standing, Lucy walked over to where he stood, and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him in for a careful hug, her injured arm unhappy about being stretched around someone. “You okay?” she murmured into his ear.  
  
“No.”  
  
Her body shook against his as she chuckled softly. “She looks like you.”  
  
“She looks like my mom,” he whispered, wonder in his voice. “She sounds like my mom too. She has her voice.”  
  
“You should call her tonight.” She pulled back, resting her hands on his forearms now, and grinned. “After her book club.” She raised an eyebrow at him.  
  
“Yes, that’s who I got my love of reading from. Shut up,” he warned, but there was only mirth in his voice as he started to shake off the shock. He held her eyes, smiling warmly at her, and she smiled back, not breaking the eye contact.  
  
“Oh my god, would you two just kiss already."  
  
They turned to find Jenn, an arm over the back of the couch, turned towards them, shaking her head. Lucy’s hands dropped from his arms, and her lips parted in surprise.  
  
“Seriously, watching you two is worse than watching my roommate and her Anth 401 TA.” She paused then, and switched topics. “Speaking of which, you still good to help her study tomorrow night, Lucy? She’s freaking the hell out.” At Lucy’s sudden loss for words, she added, “I mean, if you’re not tied up with work stuff.”  
  
“Yeah, of course. Happy to,” Lucy managed. She turned and raised an eyebrow at Wyatt, who could only shrug again in response.  
  
A knock sounded at the door, and, when Wyatt appeared stuck in place, Lucy fished some notes out of her pocket and opened the door, swapping the money for the pizza the delivery guy held out to her. She thanked him and closed the door. By the time she’d turned around, Jenn was beside her, opening the pizza box in Lucy’s hands, grabbing two slices, and closing the lid again.  
  
“I have to run. Thanks for the food. And turn your damn phone on, Wyatt. Stop making us worry.” She gave him a quick, awkward, one-armed hug while keeping her pizza from making contact with his clothing, nodded a goodbye, and exited the house, pulling the door closed behind her.  
  
“What the hell was that?” Wyatt asked.  
  
“That was your sister,” Lucy replied, grinning. “I like her. She’s feisty.”  
  
“She’s a Logan. God, she’s so much like my mom.” He blinked. “Our mom, I guess. This is going to take some getting used to.”  
  
“I’ll admit, “Lucy said, moving back over to the couch, hoping he’d follow, “I’m a little jealous.”  
  
He moved then, to the couch, sitting beside her, his eyes on the bowl of cheerios left by Jenn. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he breathed out, turning to face her. “I didn’t even think. I just gained a sister.”  
  
“And I lost one,” she finished.  
  
“You okay?” he asked, his voice kind.  
  
Her eyes dipped to the pizza box, like that might hold the answers to how she was currently feeling. “Yeah,” she agreed. “It’s good. You have a family. But, god, Wyatt, our lives are so strange. They change so dramatically, so fast.”  
  
“My mom’s alive and I have a sister,” he said, still not quite believing it. “I wonder where my mom lives?”  
  
“Your sister is out here. Maybe she is too?”  
  
“Maybe.” His eyes widened. “You think I have any surprise brothers?”  
  
Lucy laughed. "If so, see if any of them are single…”  
  
“Nope, not gonna do that,” Wyatt replied. “And anyway, the females in my family are rooting for you and me.”  
  
“Apparently, we need to just kiss already.” Lucy grinned. “I guess we never told her about Arkansas.”  
  
“And let’s not, or I’ll never hear the end of it.”  
  
The pizza box sat closed on her lap still, both too shocked, too intrigued, too mixed up in emotions, to eat just yet. “What’s your mom’s name?” Lucy asked. “I figure since she seems to like me I should know.”  
  
A soft smile played on Wyatt’s lips. “Donna. Donna Logan. Well,” he said, frowning. “I assume Logan. Who knows? She could have remarried twice by now.”  
  
“Donna,” Lucy repeated. “I like her already.” She grinned. “I like your sister too.”  
  
Pulling his phone from his pocket, Wyatt thumbed through his contacts until he came to it. Mom. He held his phone up and showed Lucy, like she hadn’t just shown him five minutes ago. “My mom’s alive.”  
  
Reaching over, she curled her hand around his forearm, and squeezed. “Call her.”  
  
“Book Club,” he reminded her. “First, your dressing. Then pizza. Then I’ll call.”  
  
Lucy groaned. “How about we ignore that first one.”  
  
“Nope, sorry, Luce. It’s me, or a rough medic tomorrow who doesn’t care if he hurts you.”  
  
“Fine,” she muttered.  
  
“Let’s get it over with before the pizza gets cold.” Placing his phone on the coffee table, he turned and began easing the dressing off, careful not to cause her too much pain, noticing she was gripping the pizza box in anticipation of it hurting - but he wouldn't let that happen. As he changed the dressing, he talked to distract her. “Before tonight, I hadn’t heard my mom’s voice in damn near thirty years. Twenty-six, to be exact. But then the moment Jenn opened her mouth, all I heard was my mom. Calling me inside because a storm was on the way. Telling me to eat my beans. Asking me to peel potatoes with her, or mix the flour in with the cornmeal. Reading to me, every night, because books were her escape from a life that was almost too hard for her sometimes, and they became my escape too.” He checked the wound, which seemed to be healing fine. The stitches were tidy, and few, just enough to bring her wound together. She’d been lucky; Custer’s gun could have done serious damage. All because he had turned away, for a second. Despite his flippant words to Jenn earlier, he blamed himself for Lucy’s injury. The least he could do was help her now, feed her, and – put on some unexpected weird show that went from Greek tragedy to comedy in two seconds flat. He covered the wound up with fresh gauze, his fingers gently pressing the adhesive around it to her upper arm, working quickly, but carefully. “Wound looks good, by the way. No sign of infection. Mason’s docs do a good job.”  
  
Lucy rolled her shoulder and glanced down at her fresh dressing. “So do you,” she told him, lifting her eyes to his and smiling. “Thank you.”  
  
“Any time.” He nodded, and broke the eye contact, reaching for the box and pulling it onto lap. “So, ready for some cold pizza?”  
  
“You ready to call your mom?”  
  
“I’m going to get her in the middle of her book club.” He reminded her, but he was stalling now. Needing to talk to his mom, but nervous excitement holding him back.  
  
“She’s your mom, she won’t mind. Plus, she’s already pissed at you. I doubt you can make it worse.”  
  
Wyatt let out a nervous chuckle. “You’re gonna stay, right? For the call, I mean,” he clarified, after realizing how awkward that request might have been otherwise.  
  
“Of course I’ll stay,” she replied, her voice soft.  
  
Finishing off a slice of pizza while reaching for his phone, he swallowed and selected his mom, and hit speaker.  
  
“You could have returned my call two days ago. But no,” his mom’s voice rang out, “You had to wait until the middle of Book Club. Wyatt!” she scolded, but there was warmth – love - in her voice. “You know it’s tonight.”  
  
“Hi, mom,” he said in response, his voice wistful and warm. A smaller hand curled around his, and he gave it a squeeze.  
  
He heard her sigh, and all annoyance disappeared from her voice. “Hi, son. I’m glad you’re alive.”  
  
Wyatt chuckled. “I misplaced my phone.” He grinned. “Lucy helped me find it.”  
  
“This is why I love Lucy,” Donna replied.  
  
“I know you do, mom.” He caught Lucy’s eye and smirked at her surprised expression, a slice of pizza frozen halfway to her mouth by his mom’s words. “I’ll let you get back to your book club. Hurricane Jenn just left. I just wanted to call, and say hi.”  
  
“Love you, my son. Tell Lucy I love her and she’s coming for Thanksgiving, no arguments.”  
  
“I will,” he replied, throwing Lucy a pleased look. “Night, mom.”  
He ended the call and grinned at Lucy. “So, you’re spending Thanksgiving with my family, apparently.”  
  
She swallowed her mouthful of pepperoni. “Your mom loves me?”  
  
“You’re probably the daughter she wished she’d had.”  
  
“Jenn was great. You're being such a big brother right now,” she told him, letting out a soft chuckle as his eyes lit up at her words.  
  
“Why do I feel like Thanksgiving is going to be the three of you ganging up on me?”  
  
Lucy smiled. She ignored his teasing, and simply replied with, “You have a family, Wyatt.”  
  
“That you’re a part of,” he added. His phone chirped, and he looked down, and a warmth flooded him as he read the message. “Rufus too. Mom just reminded me to tell him he’s joining us. Tell him, not ask. My mom hasn’t changed.”  
  
“I love your mom,” Lucy said. The warm, wistful look in Wyatt’s wide blue eyes from her words brought about an awareness that she should leave, before the confusing emotions swirling around resulted in the both of them doing something they might later regret. Her arm ached, the pain meds wearing off, and she knew if she didn't get on top of that she'd be seeing that slice of pizza again soon. “I should get home,” she said, tilting her head to indicate her injured arm. “But, are you gonna be okay? It’s a lot to process.”  
  
He blinked and nodded. “Yeah, I’ll be fine.” The grin tugged at his lips again. “I just spoke to my mom.”  
  
Lucy chuckled and slipped her hand back into his, squeezing it one more time. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”  
  
“I’ll drive you home.”  
  
She shook her head. “I’ll take a cab. You stay here and process.” Opening the Uber app on her phone, she typed in her request, and then glanced back over at him. “Thanks for checking my arm.”  
  
“I’m glad you were here.”  
  
“Me too,” she said warmly. “And if you need to talk more tonight, at any hour, call me, okay? I’m kind of a pro at this altered family stuff now.”  
He nodded, but she could see he was fading, becoming lost in the haze of all that had occurred tonight. “Call at any time. Goodnight, Wyatt.”  
  
He nodded, but the haze of mothers and sisters and all the years with them he couldn’t remember was thick as it shrouded his eyes. She hated to leave him, but nausea from the pain in her arm was winning. Releasing his hand, she stood, and moved to his door, but as she walked she tapped out a message to Rufus.  
  
_Grab some beer and visit Wyatt? I can’t stay but he needs a friend tonight, while he processes something._  
  
She had barely closed the front door when the reply came:  
   
_On my way._  
  
Her phone buzzed again.  
  
_Jessica?_  
  
_No,_ she typed back. _Jennifer._  
  
_Who?_  
  
She smiled. _I’ll let Wyatt explain._  
  
_Is a sixer enough?_  
  
_Got a keg?_  
  
_Like that is it? I have a bottle of whiskey that’s been waiting for either a celebration or a commiseration. Think that’ll do?_  
  
_I think that’ll be perfect._  
  
_He okay?_  
  
Lucy smiled. _He’s better than he’s been in a long time._  
  
  
  
  
  
   
  
  
  
   



	3. Chapter 3

“Worst mission ever?” Rufus asked, cradling his bandaged arm to his chest, his face tightening in pain.

Lucy sighed, nodding in agreement. Her arm was still healing from the bullet graze a week earlier, and it ached from the exertion of helping her friends back to the lifeboat. Somehow, she had avoided a fresh injury. The only one of the three of them to be able to say that tonight. “You okay getting home?”

“Jiya’s taking me.” He cocked his head. “Wyatt done yet?”

“Yeah,” Lucy said.

“More stitches than me?”

Lucy almost laughed. “Two less.”

“Yes, Rufus, you’re the bigger badass this time,” Wyatt said as he limped into the room, crutches in hand but not being used, and back in his own unstained clothing after a long, drawn-out fight with his jeans. Getting them on with sore ribs, an aching head, and a stitched leg had sucked.

Torn and bloodied (his and Rufus’), the pants he’d come back in were goners, ripped even further by him trying to get the damn things off; he had almost thrown them in the trash himself and done everyone who’d have to deal with them a favor – until it crossed his mind he’d likely made them more authentic, and had handed them to the attendant with an apologetic shrug.

After getting those off and his jeans on, he was done. And happily ignoring the fact at some point he'd have to take his jeans off again.

“Why aren’t you using the crutches?” Lucy asked Wyatt, a hint of frustration in her tone as she locked unimpressed eyes on him.

“Don’t need them,” he argued, attempting to prove his point by walking with a less pronounced limp. He made it two steps before the pressure was too much and the limp returned. “I promised I’d take them home. Never promised I’d use them.” His leg hurt if he walked on it, his ribs hurt if he used the crutches. He would admit to neither pain out loud. 

She huffed out a frustrated sigh while Rufus looked on in amusement.

“You ready to leave?” she asked Wyatt.

“Yeah,” Wyatt grumbled, having lost that argument earlier. “Take me home.”

“See you tomorrow for dinner, Rufus,” Lucy said, reminding him of their Thursday plans. “Take care tonight, okay?”

Rufus smiled at Lucy. “Your faith in Emma not taking out the mothership tomorrow is comforting.”

Lucy just shrugged. “Surely she has family? Someone to spend the day with? Plus, I need a few days to decompress after this past week. She better give me that.”

“Or Lucy’ll go all historian on her ass,” Wyatt deadpanned.

“Damn straight,” Lucy agreed. “And Wyatt’s benched for a week--”

“Two days, max,” he argued.

“A week,” she corrected, “minimum. So I’d rather Emma took a little vacation time.”

Rufus smiled as he watched the exchange. “See you both tomorrow,” he told them. “Hopefully in the present, with turkey.”

With a smile and a nod, Lucy turned and curled her hand around Wyatt’s elbow. “Come on, let’s get you home so you can recover a little before tomorrow's reunion.”

His eyes lit up. “I’m seeing my mom tomorrow,” he said, a wistful edge to his tone. “My _mom,_ Lucy.”

Lucy smiled, pleased to see something other than pain in his blue eyes, and slowly helped him out of the building while he told her a story from the last Thanksgiving he had spent with her, and how he could still taste her green bean casserole, could still smell the rolls fresh from the oven (could still hear his father yelling at her for spending money on a turkey). The last memory tugged sadly at her heart, but he smiled and assured her his Grandpa Sherwin had stepped in - as he always had.  
  
He couldn’t drive with his injured leg, and she’d be damned if she was going to try and maneuver his truck through rush hour. She hushed his expected grunt of disapproval at the sight of her car with a reminder his truck would be safe for a few days, and, in the meantime, he should just enjoy having a chauffeur.

And that was the closest she’d ever seen to a petulant pout on a grown man’s lips.

 

* * *

 

 

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” Lucy countered.

She followed him up the path to his home, her hands ready to steady him the second he appeared to falter. Not that she could catch a stumbling Master Sergeant, but she’d make a damn good attempt at it.

“See,” he announced as he opened his front door, “Fine.”

“Why are you so stubborn?”

“Like you’re any better,” he fired back.

There was no venom in their words. He was tired, sore, but warmed by her concern. Her touch, resting lightly on his arm as he hobbled inside, made it clear she was only worried. Not angry.

He collapsed heavily on the couch, groaning as his stitches pulled and his ribs protested. She moved past him, into the kitchen, dug out the painkillers from the first-aid kit she knew he kept there, took a bottle of water from the fridge, and handed them both to him as she carefully sat down beside him.

“Thanks,” he murmured, swallowing the pills dry before gulping down the water to appease her.

“You should sleep,” she told him, her wide, liquid eyes studying him.

“Can’t,” he admitted. "Not yet."

“TV?”

“Head still hurts a bit."

She studied the bump, the red graze, from when he’d hit the ground after the knife had slashed his leg. The same knife that just moments earlier had slashed through Rufus’ upper arm. Watching it happen, being helpless to stop it, had left her screaming both their names, her voice not loud enough to drown out the sound of the knife through their flesh as it repeated in her head like a skipping CD stuck on a heartbreaking song.

Plucking a cushion from behind her, Lucy placed it on her lap. “They said to elevate your leg,” she reminded him, pointing a finger down at the cushion. Because at least she could do this for him now.

With exaggerated annoyance, Wyatt eased around on the couch, until he was stretched out along it, his legs resting on the cushion on Lucy’s thighs. He bent his good knee, so not to put the weight of both on her, and tried to keep the weight of his bad leg minimal.

“I’m not going to break, Wyatt,” she said, exasperated. “Rest your damn leg.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he groused, before doing as told, his lips twitching as he fought a smile. “Is this payback?”

“I’m not changing your dressing, if that’s what you’re getting at,” she told him, referring to the previous week when he had changed the dressing on her injured arm. The one throbbing now.

“You are _not_ that bad with blood,” he told her, shuffling his shoulders from side-to-side to get the cushion just right behind him. Once he’d settled, he added, “You didn’t faint when Rufus got shot.”

“I also didn’t have to dig a bullet out of him or change his dressing.”

“Okay, no one is asking you to do the first thing.”

“The second?”

“I can do it myself but…” He shrugged. “An extra pair of hands would be a help.”

“Fine,” she huffed. “Maybe.”

“Hey,” he said, his voice softer now. “Thank you in advance for tomorrow.”

Lucy flashed him a warm smile. “You’re welcome. I want to be there.”

A long, heavy sigh left his lips, and he squeezed his eyes shut. With his elbow resting on the top of the couch beside him, he pressed his temple into his palm and leaned into his hand. “I’m gonna need the support,” he muttered

She gave his good leg a light squeeze, forcing him to open his eyes again and look at her. His head stayed in his hand, and she knew he was fighting a losing battle with the headache. “Rufus and I will get you through it.” She rested the hand on his uninjured leg. “How are you coping, with all of that? We haven’t had a chance to really talk about it since meeting Jenn.”

“My mom phoned me this morning,” he began, dropping his hand down to his side and straightening his neck. “Wanted to make sure I was bringing the pie - again. Apparently, it’s something I do.” He threw her a lop-sided smile.

Lucy’s body shook as she laughed. “I’m sorry. I can’t imagine you baking.”

He nodded, agreeing with her. He couldn’t imagine himself baking either. “It would have been Jess who started it. She loved baking pies. For some reason, I still do it?”

“Jessica’s own recipe?” Lucy asked.

He nodded towards the kitchen. “Mind going into the top drawer? Bringing the book back?”

Her brow furrowed, but she did as he asked. Easing out from under him, placing the cushion and his leg on the couch, she walked into the kitchen and opened the drawer. Clasping the book in her hands, she returned to the living room, and slid back under him. Opening the large notebook, she smiled as her eyes fell on the hand-written recipes.

“They’re her mom’s recipes, but Jess wrote them all down,” he said, his voice soft, almost wistful, as he spoke her name.

Lucy smiled at the grease-like stains on the paper, butter, or cooking oil turning the paper transparent. She swore the paper had a flour-like texture beneath the pads of her fingers as she turned the pages. “Jessica’s Famous Pumpkin Pie,” she read, smiling at the words.

“It was really good too,” Wyatt agreed. “I haven’t opened that book in five years. I certainly haven’t baked anything.”

“I have a question,” Lucy said, closing the book and setting it on the arm rest beside her. “If you don’t mind me asking…” She hesitated, and at his small, curious nod, she asked, “Do you check every day?”

“If she’s alive?”

“Yeah.”

“I used to,” he admitted. “After every jump, I’d be on my phone before I was even back in my own clothes, Googling.”

“Now?” she asked, tilting her head, watching for any signs he was upset by her questions, but he seemed fine. Normal Wyatt. A little haunted, and not huge on talking, but willing to open up just a bit more. She supposed, considering how emotional tomorrow was going to be, he was probably considering this practice.

“I have one clipping. It reads: _Soldier_ _’s Wife Found Dead_. It’s on my fridge.”

“I’ve seen it,” she murmured.

“That’s how I know.” He sighed. “So, I suppose I still check every day, out of the corner of my eye, as I'm passing by, or opening the fridge. If I see the clipping, I know nothing’s changed.”

Lucy cocked her head and studied his blue eyes, smiling as he raised an eyebrow at her, a silent, ‘what?’. “Can I help you?” she asked, hesitance making her voice waver.

“With?” he asked, brow furrowing.

“Making the pie,” she clarified, hoping he wouldn’t find it weird, read into it, since it was Jessica’s thing. She just wanted to help, and maybe find some normality in a day she would usually spend with her own mother - and Amy. 

“I’d like that,” he replied, his lips quirking up in the smallest of smiles.

Her phone buzzed before she could respond. Reaching for it, Lucy read the message. “Huh,” she said, frowning as she read the message. “Your sister texts me, it seems.”

“What?” Wyatt asked, leaning forward to see the message. “ _Jiya told me the idiot got himself injured_ ,” Wyatt read, making an unimpressed face at the words. “ _Tell him he_ _’s not getting out of Thanksgiving that easily_.” He shook his head as he sat back again. “Nice.”

Lucy laughed. “She loves you, Wyatt.”

“I wish I returned it,” he grumbled.

“You’ll learn to, once you get used to having her around. You’ve only met her once.”

“I love my mom,” he said, the words leaving his lips slow as he thought of Jenn, the woman who’d burst into his home a week ago and made him feel like he’d been on a perpetual Gravitron ever since. “I have those feelings still. But Jenn is…. So out of the blue.”

“In time, it’ll be like she was always there.”

“Or we’ll come back home one day and they’ll both be gone.”

“No,” Lucy said, her voice sharp. “Don’t think that.”

“They’re not even meant to be here, Luce,” he argued. “Like Noah, they’re just some weird glitch in the matrix.”

His eyes lost their spark as he spoke, and even his voice seemed to be fading. “I have a surprise for you,” she told him, because the timing felt right. He needed this tonight.

He blinked, feeling more alert all of a sudden. “Okay?”

“With Thanksgiving approaching, we could have researched, but Jiya and I decided to try doing it an easier way and…” She showed him another message on her screen. “That’s your mom’s address.”

“What?” he asked, a smile lighting up his face. He read the message and grinned. “You assumed Jiya had never been there and had her message my mom. Nice.”

“Anything to save a little time.” She had been planning to research, they both had, but Emma had jumped constantly all week, and any time spent in the present had been spent eating and sleeping, with time for little more. Jiya, God bless her, had saved her from spending this night in front of her computer.

“You were lucky we got called in to jump back to 1818, or she might have had to send one to Jenn too,” Wyatt told her, referring to the Saturday night Jenn had asked her over.

“I feel a little bad I didn’t help her roommate study.” Lucy flashed him a grin before adding, “I think Jiya’s planning on getting _that_ info at Thanksgiving.”

“Thank you, really,” he said sincerely, capturing her gaze with his own, his eyes feeling watery from all she and Jiya had done. “I still don’t even know my mom’s last name. I know Jiya’s looking into everything for me. I appreciate it. What both of you are doing. For me.”

“Jiya’s amazing. If anyone can uncover all the info, she can. Trust me.”

He nodded, and his lips parted, ready to tell her she was amazing, ready to let the words spill out, when his jaw tightened from the pain, and he raked a hand through his hair, like that action might dull the ache.

“Pain?” she asked, meeting his glassy eyes.

An affirmative grunt left his lips as his eyes slipped closed. This entire week could go to Hell for the crap it had put him and his friends though.

“Do you need me to check the wound tonight?”

“It’s fine tonight,” he replied, his eyes still closed. “In the morning, you can check mine and I’ll check yours.”

“My arm is fine.”

“Oh really?” he asked, opening his eyes and cocking an eyebrow. “Is that why you’ve barely lifted it since we got back?”

“I’m resting it, okay? Yes, it aches a little, but you’re heavy and Rufus had his own problems.” At his regretful expression, she added, “And don’t you dare apologize for that.”

“Thank you,” he said instead, still holding her gaze, "for letting me lean on you.”

“Any time,” she promised. “I’m glad you’re both okay.” Her face darkened and she dipped her eyes for a moment, took a breath and summoned courage.

“What’s up?” he asked, noticing the change in her body language.

She kept her eyes cast down, studying the texture of the wooden floor as she began to speak. “Would you mind if I crashed on your couch?” She lifted her gaze to meet his. “I don’t want to explain to my mom why I’m spending Thanksgiving elsewhere,” she added before he could speak.

He reached out a hand to her, and she took it, lacing their fingers until their palms pressed together. “No.”

“Oh—“

Tightening his hold on the hand she was tugging back, he smiled. “Got something better than a couch,” he said, easing his leg off her but not letting go of her hand. He sighed. “You’re gonna have to help me up first though.”

Her frown now replaced with a curious smile, Lucy stood and helped him to his feet with her good arm. She stayed close to his side, ready to offer support should he need it. He winced as he took his first step, putting as little pressure as possible on his injured leg. And at his frustrated grunt, she grabbed the crutches from beside the couch and thrust them at him. “Just, stop being so damn stubborn and use them?”

He eyed them warily, before giving in and taking them from her outstretched hands. “Around the house,” he acquiesced, tucking them under his arms and gripping the handles, and ignoring his protesting ribs.

Lucy followed at his side as he led the way to his bedroom, and he smiled at her hesitation upon reaching the threshold.

“You don’t have a guest room,” she stated.

“I don’t. I have one bed. It’s big. Sheets were fresh on this morning.” He had even tidied up his bedside tables, the box of tissues now back in the bathroom. He’d done none of this in anticipation of Lucy spending the evening at his place. It all seemed a bit serendipitous now.  “We sleep in one bed all the time.”

“Sure, in the past,” she pointed out. “Never in the present.”

“Does it matter?”

She was silent for a moment, considering it. In the past, it was work. The team stayed together, and all three had no qualms about sharing a room, and sometimes two also sharing a bed. All three of them had squashed into one bed barely big enough for two once, with only minimal nervous chuckling and mildly awkward jokes. But here, now, this wasn’t work. This was Lucy, sharing a bed with Wyatt. His bed. In his bedroom. She needed several seconds to let it all whirl around inside her mind. And when the thoughts had finally settled, she said, “No, I suppose not.”

“And I’m going to be asleep before my head hits the pillow so your snoring won’t even keep me awake this time.”

Her lips parted in an indignant O. “I told you, I had a cold!” Which she had then passed on to both him and Rufus, and her punishment had been listening to them moan all week.

“Lucy, I hate to break this to you, but you snore every time.”

“Lies,” she shot back, a sheepish smile tugging at her lips. She stood in front of him, staring him down, daring him to argue further. But he didn’t.

Leaning heavily on his crutches, he instead said, “You stay tonight you realize you absolutely have to help me with the pie in the morning.”

“Happy to.” She grinned.

“I have one more request,” he said, his voice hesitant now, “and it’s going to sound like a line, but I promise it isn’t.”

Lucy’s eyebrows shot up. “Okay…” she said slowly.

“Help me out of my jeans?”

“You’re right,” she said, smirking. “It does sound like a line.”

“I’m injured,” he reminded her. He lifted the base of one of his crutches off the ground, to punctuate his words.

“Okay, but, you’re going to have to… uh…” She pursed her lips. “Undo them.” Her eyes fell to his crotch, completely by accident, and by the time she’d caught herself and raised them he was grinning a her. “Oh shut up.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, still smirking, before propping his crutches beside the bed, and unsnapping the buttons on the fly.

“You better be wearing underwear,” she muttered.

“I promise.” He gestured at the hems. “I’ll push them down, you tug them off?”

Lucy shook her head, laughing at the situation. “This is ridiculous. You’re wearing sweatpants tomorrow.”

“To Thanksgiving dinner with my mother? I don’t think that’ll fly,” he told her while he eased the jeans down, careful not to take his boxers with them. He sat in the edge of the mattress with his jeans at his knees, looking anywhere but at her.

She knelt before him, at his feet, trying not to let the reality of the position they were in enter her brain. This wasn’t sexual. This was because of his stitches, his limited movement right now. She absolutely wasn’t about to perform fellatio on her best friend. Even though that was what it looked like right now.

Her eyes flicked up to his, and she instantly regretted it when she found he’d finally found the courage to glance down at her – right at the moment her brain had hit the gutter.

“Where’s your mind right now?” he teased.

“Oh, you want to play that game?” Her eyes flicked to the bedside table. “Where’s your box of tissues?”

His face flushed pink. “Uh, I had a cold.”

She laughed, loud and joyfully. “Mmmmhmmmm.” She took hold of his pants and eased them down, shaking her head at the absurdity of it all as she did so. Once they were off, she picked them up and folded them over the back of the chair at his desk. “Do you use the desk?” she asked, turning back to face him to find him slowly easing himself beneath the covers, his t-shirt still on.

“I used to.”

“Researching history?” she teased.

“Well, yeah, actually,” he replied, gesturing her over with a wave of his hand. “I spent a lot of nights sitting there, pouring over articles about the night Jess died.” He noticed the little falter in her step as she moved to the opposite side of the bed. “Trying to solve the mystery.”

“I’m sorry,” she told him, standing at the side of the bed, her features tighter, her eyes sad. “I didn’t mean to— “

“It’s fine,” he promised, tugging the blankets down for her. “Get in.”

“Is there any awkward topic we haven’t covered tonight?” she asked as she tugged her own jeans off, watching as he lay on his back, glancing away from her as she wiggled out of them. She sat on the edge of the bed with her back to him and reached up under her t-shirt and undid her bra, before sliding it off through the sleeve.

“No, I think we’ve hit them all.”

“I like this level of comfort we have.” She turned and smiled at him over her shoulder, but he didn’t see it. He was on his back, eyes closed, settling in to sleep.

“You took your shirt off in front of me the first day we met,” he reminded her, eyes still closed, his voice lower now.

“Well, as I recall it, I did it _behind_ you. You just happened to look.” She stood and raised an eyebrow at him before sliding beneath the blankets.

He raked a hand through his hair, his hand hitting the pillow with a low thump. Opening his eyes as the mattress dipped, finding her covered by the blanket, he said, “And I want to apologize for that. It was disrespectful. I shouldn’t have looked. I’m sorry.”

“That took you a while,” she told him, settling in beside him, “But I appreciate the apology.”

“It took me too long. I should have apologized right then and there.” A regretful sigh left his lips. “I shouldn’t have looked.”

“You never did it again,” she said. She eased down until she was lying on her back, and then turned to face him, a hand between her head and the pillow.

“My eyes weren’t closed before just because I’m tired.”

“I know,” she said, smiling. “Thank you.” She was silent for a moment, before saying, “And I apologize for looking at your crotch – twice.”

“Twice?” he questioned, turning his head on the pillow to look at her. He would have turned and mirrored her had his body not been aching. “When—“

“Doesn’t matter when. Just accept the apology.”

He chuckled at her pink cheeks. “Accepted.” He grinned. “For _both_ times.” At her mortified groan, he said, “I like this level of comfort too, by the way. But I suppose you wake up with someone else’s arm slung across your stomach enough and you can’t help but feel comfortable with her.”

The blush in Lucy’s cheeks deepened. “That definitely only happened once.”

“More like every time we do this. You get a bit kicky sometimes too,” he teased. “And you snore.”

“I don’t snore,” she huffed. “At least I’m not a pillow stealer.”

“I prefer pillow _sharer_.”

“Only because you leave me with a _corner_.” They’d been teasing one another, but listing the quirks they learned about one another during these nights together brought the moments that broke her heart to mind too. “And you have nightmares,” she murmured, a deep sadness suddenly gripping at her heart. She reached over and cupped his cheek, her thumb brushing his stubble. “A lot.”

He leaned into her touch, closing his eyes, just for a moment, like a long blink. “Yeah,” he replied, his voice low and hoarse. “I know.”

“And that’s why you wake up with me so close to you. My arm across your stomach,” she admitted, speaking the words for the first time. “It calms you.”

He turned his head and pressed his lips to her palm. “Thank you.” As she let her hand slip from his face, he said, “I’ll try not to have any tonight.”

“If you find me curled around you in the morning you’ll know why.”

She was right, she calmed him. And knowing she would be there for him warmed him, made him feel like he could tackle anything tomorrow threw at him. He hadn’t really answered her question earlier about how he was coping with his new family. But it had been hard to deal with it when the interaction had been so limited. Tomorrow would be different. Tomorrow he’d have a real answer for her once he himself found out how he was coping, and he was relieved she would be there. In case it all became too much. In case he fell apart. He knew she would sense it, wrap him in one of her soothing hugs, and calm him with her touch. “Good night, Luce,” he said as he rolled onto his back, ending the conversation before it all got just a little too heavy. Before he admitted too much.

“You gonna sleep okay?” she asked, her voice low.

“It’s gone from a searing pain to a dull ache. I’ve slept through worse.”

She hated that she believed him, hated that she knew the stories behind most of his scars by now. Hated all he had been through, every bullet hole, every knife wound. At least, when he was sleeping, his body shuddering from the dreams plaguing him, she could slip her arms around him and keep him safe. “Night, Wyatt.” She stayed on her side, her eyes closed but still awake, listening to his breathing change as sleep claimed him.

Only once she was sure he was asleep did she allow herself to drift off.

 

And in the morning, she found him pressed up against her, his arm slung low across her stomach, his nose buried in her hair, snoring softly against her – and sharing her pillow.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

Wyatt’s hands gripped the tray holding the pie he and Lucy had baked that morning. She had admitted baking wasn’t really her forte, but between the two of them they had managed to put together something resembling pumpkin pie with no major incidents (like him kissing her after wiping the flour from her cheek. He’d been so close; his hand had lingered on her warm skin after brushing away the white dusting of flour – before the incessant buzzing of the timer had rudely ended the moment).

Taking her car, they had stopped briefly at her place so she could change into a dress, and then they’d hit the road – and he’d sat clutching the pie the entire drive, nervous, excited energy flowing through him.

Pulling up at the curb outside the one-level white home, Lucy turned as the engine silenced and the car settled, and she gave him a sympathetic look. “You ready?”

“Nope,” he admitted, popping the p, his eyes fixed on the house he’d never stepped foot in before.

“You want to wait a bit?”

He cracked a half-smile and turned to meet her eyes. “Unlike you, I don’t enjoy sitting in cars summoning the courage to meet a parent.”

“Alright then,” she said, pushing open the driver’s side door and exiting the car. “Like a band-aid it is.”

He pushed open his door, and she met him at the curb, taking the pie from him so he could wrestle the crutches out of the car. The house felt familiar as he gazed up at it, his back leaning against the closed car door. The sparkling windows, the tidy row of flowers following the length of the drive, the freshly cut grass, it felt like home. The home he had grown up in in West Texas had been a double-wide on a small section of land that his mother had somehow managed to keep pristine. Even when summer turned the sparse grass brown, and the elements dulled the exterior, she still had a way of keeping the place homely, bright, clean, and warm. The only element that had ever been able to strip that old place of its love had been his father. He blinked away the memory and tucked the crutches under his arms, and took slow, hesitant steps with Lucy at his side. “I still have no idea what my first words will be.”

Lucy smiled as they made their way up the smooth paved path and navigated the three small steps up to the porch. “I think you’ll find they’ll come to you in the moment,” she said, before she lifted her hand and rapped on the pretty, wooden door, the orange and brown leaves on the autumnal wreath fluttering as she knocked. As soon as she heard movement inside, she dropped her hand and curled her fingers at Wyatt’s elbow, and he smiled in response. A silent, grateful, _thank you_.

The door opened, and suddenly there she was: his mom. Her once natural dark brown hair dyed now, with grey’s just peeking through at the roots; lines crinkled around her mouth, her eyes, but she was still like he remembered, just an older version of the woman in the few photos he had of her.  

He tried to open his mouth, to greet her, to say _anything_ , but emotion thickened his throat and the words got stuck. Lucy’s hold on his arm tightened, giving him a reassuring squeeze, reminding him she was there, and he gripped the crutches tighter as the tremor in his hands caused them to shake. And still Lucy held on to him, the pie balanced in one hand, holding him up with her other, the ache in her own arm forgotten. Her focus only on him.

“Oh my son,” Donna said as she took in the sight of him, leaning on his crutches, face haunted and bruised. “What happened this time?”

Lucy squeezed his arm when he remained silent, still gaping at his mom. “The usual,” she replied for him, hoping that was enough.

Donna’s eyes met hers, and she smiled. “I can hug you without breaking you. Come here, my dear,” she said, opening her arms to Lucy and wrapping her in an embrace, Lucy somehow managing to balance the pie through the hug. “You’ve been looking after my son?”

“Of course,” Lucy replied, pulling back and smiling.

“Well both of you, come on. No good standing out here all day.” She stepped back and opened the door wider, ushering them both inside, but giving her son a concerned look.

Lucy walked at Wyatt’s side, fearing he might trip on his own feet in the daze he was in.

“I’m going to assume the head wound is the reason you’re so quiet,” Donna said, casting her son another concerned look as he hobbled inside.

Once past the threshold, he placed his crutches beside the door and turned to his mom. He swallowed thickly, forcing down what felt like gravel in his throat, and then cleared it with a small cough. Feeling like he could do this, form a few words, he opened his mouth – and forced out a sentence. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”

“Except for his bruised ribs, the stiches in his leg, and the bump on his head,” Lucy announced, ignoring the look of betrayal she could see Wyatt giving her in her peripheral vision.

Donna shook her head. “So, nothing new for you.” She looked at Lucy. “I’m having flashbacks to his childhood.”

Lucy let out a bubble of laughter, but Wyatt was silent, staring at his mom, his eyes growing wetter by the second. When Donna noticed his red eyes, she said, “You’re refusing pain relief again, aren’t you?” She sighed. “You two take the couch, I’ll take the pie,” she said, smiling at Lucy as it was handed over. “And I’ll be back with some Tylenol.” She gave Wyatt a stern look. “Which you’re taking.”

He had refused the pain pills that morning, stupidly, when Lucy had shaken the bottle in front of him. He should have taken them, to dull his emotions more than anything else, and maybe not cry in front of his mother.

Lucy led him through Donna’s home, hoping they would stumble upon the couch eventually. When they did, she sat him down and gripped his hand. “You doing okay?”

“That’s my mom,” he whispered, turning to her with damp eyes, unable to hold it in any longer. “My _mom._ _”_

Lucy slid across the couch and wrapped him up in her arms, resting her chin on his shoulder and rubbing small circles against his back. He was silent but she could feel his tears dampening her shirt, and she didn’t say anything, just let him be comforted while he processed what had just happened. He was still clinging to her when Donna stepped into the room.

At her surprised eyes, Lucy said, “It’s been a rough week.” She relaxed her hold on Wyatt, and he eased away from her, avoiding the eyes of both women as he swiped a hand across the dampness and erased it from his skin.

Donna placed a glass of water on the coffee table, sat down beside her son, and laid a hand on his arm. She dropped two pills into his palm and once he’d curled his fist shut she wrapped her own arms around him and drew him in for a hug.

And that was it. He couldn’t keep it silent anymore. His arms snaked around his mom and he sobbed audibly into her shoulder.

Her wide blue eyes met Lucy’s.

“He’s okay, I promise,” Lucy said, her voice soft.

“Did someone…. Wyatt, is everyone okay?” When all he did was hug her tighter, she looked at Lucy again. “The last time he cried like this was the funeral.”

“No one died,” Wyatt said, gathering himself. He pulled back and wiped at his eyes. He swallowed the pills dry, ignoring the sighs of frustration from the women on both sides of him, and then sat back on the couch and closed his eyes. “Just tired.” He sat there, emotionally exhausted, listening to the two women as they continued the conversation. His mom’s voice, not on an old cassette tape that left her sounding faraway – and almost thirty years in the past - but here, in the room with him, now.

“Well as soon as dinner is done you two can escape to the guest room.”

Lucy blinked. “We’re staying?”

“Wyatt didn’t tell you?” Donna asked. At Lucy’s shake of her head, she explained, “He always stays Thanksgiving night, rather than drive home so late.”

“I didn’t bring anything.”

“And, from the state he’s in, I’m guessing my hopeless son didn’t either?”

“Just the pie,” he managed to reply, head still resting back against the couch, eyes still closed. It was easier to process it this way, for his brain to get used to her voice first. As soon as he opened his eyes and saw her again fresh tears were going to fall.

“Well, I keep the guest bathroom stocked, as you know. And, Lucy, if you need something to sleep in I can have Jenn bring you some clothes.”

“Uh, that would be good. Thank you.”

“I’ll leave you kids here to relax for a while. I have a turkey to check on.”

With that, she stood and left the room.

“I’m going to assume the guest room only has one bed.”

Wyatt almost chuckled. When her hand fell on his thigh, he opened his eyes, blinked away the haze, and gave her the smallest of smiles. “Good thing we slept together last night in preparation then.”

“Oh good, the jokes are coming back,” she said dryly. “Can we go back to you being silent and in shock?” She gave his thigh a gentle squeeze, just above his knee, the contact telling him she wasn’t serious. “But what does your mom think we are? If she thinks it’s okay for us to share a bed? I mean…” She trailed off, unable to articulate her thoughts.

“She probably thinks we’re exactly what we are.”

“Which is?”

“Damned if we know.”

Lucy blinked in surprise at his sudden honesty. “So we’re not nothing, then?”

He frowned. “You thought that?”

“I don’t know what to think.” Lines etched deep between her eyes, marring her smooth skin. “We haven’t exactly talked about us since… Well, since the one time we actually did.”

“Yeah,” he said, releasing the word on a sigh. Panic flared in his eyes. 

“Don’t worry,” she said, her voice gentler. “We don’t need to talk about it now, but soon?”

“Definitely,” he promised. He flashed her a warm smile, and it was only then that he felt like he could get through this day, as long as she was by his side.

“In the meantime,” she said, baring all her teeth as she grinned at him, “I’m going to go help your mother and get all the teenage Wyatt stories.”

He pushed himself to his feet with a groan, and then gave her a determined nod. He needed this, needed to be near his mom, even if it meant spontaneously bursting into tears every few minutes. “I’m coming. I want them too.”


	5. Chapter 5

 

  
Sitting in the chair Lucy had forced him into almost an hour prior, Wyatt smiled as he watched her interact with his mom, grateful for all the stories – even the embarrassing ones – she had so skilfully gotten out of her. The large kitchen/dining area meant he could still be a part of everything, even though they refused to let him help. If Lucy’s arm was bothering her, she didn’t let it show as she chatted with both his mom and his sister.

Jenn had arrived a half hour ago, Rufus and Jiya following her through the front door having pulled up right after her, and she had been all-too gleefully aiding in the storytelling.

As the final touches were put on the turkey, his mom multi-tasked without batting an eye, still spilling stories while handing Jiya a bottle of wine, and pointing Lucy towards the plates to deliver and arrange on the long dining room table. Wyatt turned to Rufus, sitting at his side, too invested in the tales for his liking, and gave him a slight nudge with his elbow.

“You better not be storing any of these away for future torture.”

Rufus grinned. “You better believe I am.”

Jiya laughed, moving around the table, filling the wine glasses with generous amounts of the pale liquid. “Me too.” She held the bottle in one hand, and, with her free hand, tapped her temple with one finger and grinned. “It’s all going straight in here.”

And had he lived this lifetime with his mom, he’d be crying out for her to stop. But like his teammates, he was hearing these stories for the first time, and he needed their help, needed them to keep the stories in their memories, to help him to never forget a word of any of them.

“You know, looking at your latest head wound,” Jenn began, taking a seat at the table opposite her brother, “all I can think about is that Christmas with the BMX.”

This caught his attention. He’d always wanted one, growing up, but it had never been something the family could afford.

The food now all laid out, Lucy sat beside him and gave him a bright smile before turning her attention to Jenn. “Please share.”

Jenn laughed. “My stupid brother thought he’d take _my_ brand-new BMX for a spin. Grandpa Sherwin had given Wyatt a bike when he’d been what… like, seven?” She looked at Wyatt, who nodded. “He’d loved the thing, but finally someone in the family owned a bike that could handle the dirt roads. Keep in mind, I was six, so the bike wasn’t big. So, he’s fifteen, had removed the training wheels, and was showing off for his new girlfriend... Jess,” she added, for Rufus and Jiya, and maybe Lucy, not knowing how much Lucy really knew, “on a bike too small for him, when he misjudged one of the jumps he’d set up and went flying over the handlebars. We were picking gravel out of him for days. Still got a scar on his forehead.”

Lucy leaned in and scanned Wyatt’s forehead.

“Other side,” Jenn informed her. “At his hairline.” She let out a snort. “Although by now he’s probably got one on that side too.”

Curious, and smiling as Wyatt gave her a small nod of permission, she brushed his hair aside – and checked him over for new scars. “Huh,” she said as she examined his skin, as though she was seeing something for the first time.

“He hides it,” Jenn told her. “Always has.” She laughed. "Because the story of how he got it, falling off his little sister's bike, isn't as badass as he'd like."

Lucy met Wyatt’s eyes and the intrigue was blazing in them. “Later,” she murmured to him, letting his hair drop back into place.

“Enough of my son’s battle scars,” Donna said as she took her own seat at the table. “But I am thankful he’s alive.” She threw her son a familiar smirk. “Lord knows we had some close calls with that one.”

“Yeah, you ever wanna have kids, Lucy,” Jenn said, leaning across the table towards Lucy, “come talk with me first. I’ll tell you all about the crap that one got up to.” She pointed at her brother. “Best birth control ever.”

“Jenn, hush,” Donna said, giving her daughter a stern look. “I want grandkids and you’re being stubborn, so that’s my best chance right there.”

Lucy’s mouth fell open and she slid down a little in her seat, hoping the floor might open up and she could just slide right down and away from this conversation. Rufus’ bark of laughter did nothing to help.

“Oh no, Lucy, my dear, not like that. You know I consider you a daughter. Having said that,” Donna continued, her smile taking on a teasing quality, “should you and my son ever get it together, then absolutely like that.”

“Damn, Luce, I didn’t know that shade of red was possible on a human,” Jenn teased her from across the table.

“Oh my God,” Wyatt groaned. He tried to block out Jiya’s giggling, and Rufus’ snort, and turned to Lucy. “I am so sorry.”

“It’s fine. At some point the floor will swallow me and none of this will be happening.”

“We got the sturdy floors here I’m afraid,” Jenn announced. “The non-swallowing kind.”

"Fantastic,” Wyatt drawled. He turned, and while trying to ignore Rufus’ joyful grin, he muttered, “It’s not like that—we’re not—“

"Uh huh,” was all Rufus replied, before he raised his glass and smiled brightly at the table. “Best Thanksgiving ever,” he told Donna. “Thank you for inviting us.”

“Oh Rufus, my dear, we are just getting started,” Donna replied, raising her glass towards his.

Wyatt leaned closer to Lucy and asked, “You got any hooch?”

“No, all I have is regret, although it kind of tastes the same.” She plastered on a smile and raised her glass, and then almost choked on her wine as Wyatt swallowed his entire glass in three gulping mouthfuls. And then she followed suit.

 

* * *

 

Dinner brightened as the focus slipped away from Lucy and Wyatt, and onto Rufus and Jiya, and later Jenn. He still caught himself staring at his mom throughout the meal, marvelling at how little she had changed. The years had been kind to her, and he could imagine that started the moment she ditched her worthless husband – his dad.

Lucy had managed to get his father’s fate into a conversation _(prison – he wasn’t surprised_ ), discovered she’d been dating a man named Jack for four years now, and was saddened to hear his mom say, “No, once was enough for me,” when Lucy had questioned her remarrying. But she seemed happy enough. Happy, and alive. He might never get used to that.

After aiding in the post-dinner clean up, Rufus and Jiya had left for the night, and Jenn had helped Wyatt back into the living room, when Donna and Lucy had refused to let them help further.

“I want to talk to your mom a bit more,” Lucy had told him. He’d only groaned in reply, but he knew she would share any intel with him, and he was tired and ready to sink into the couch for a while.

Lucy breezed into the living room, handing them both a mug of hot chocolate, before leaving again, and he watched her go, his eyes lingering too long.

“Mom loves her too,” Jenn announced, placing her hot chocolate on the coffee table before wandering over to the bookcase and digging out the old photo album Wyatt had asked for.

He blinked down at the heavy album as it was deposited on his lap. He knew this book existed, his mom had started putting it together from his birth, and while he had flipped through the first few pages with her as a six-year-old, it had remained untouched after her death. A project she had never been allowed to finish. His fingertips skimmed over the faded, eighties, brown plastic cover, but he didn’t open it. Not yet. Sighing out in faux exasperation, he said, “Yes, I know you both adore Lucy.”

“Yeah, runs in our family,” Jenn replied, lifting an eyebrow.

“Don’t start.” He settled back, cupping the warm mug between his palms, and closed his eyes. “It’s complicated.”

“Speaking of complicated," she said slowly, "I have something else to say.”

He cracked open an eye and watched her, suspicious. “Dare I ask?”

“Okay, listen, smartass, I’m being serious so just shut up for a minute.”

That caught his attention. He hadn’t had many interactions with Jenn, but what he’d seen of her, serious didn’t seem like her thing. Snarky and strong-willed, yes. But not serious.

“I’m sorry,” Jenn began, tucking her knees up under her and sipping the hot chocolate. “I never said it, after Jess died, but I’m sorry for the way that I was. I know it seemed like I hated her, but I didn’t." She shrugged, and then let out a regretful sigh. "I was young, and I felt like she tried too hard to be my friend. And the harder she tried, the harder I pushed her away.”

He blinked in surprise. “You never told me that?” It came out sounding too much like a question, but if she noticed she didn’t react.

“I wanted to. I tried to. But you were… so hard to talk to after that. After the funeral, you only took our calls to tell us you were fine. You never wanted to talk about it. Even after we moved out here, you were so hard to reach out to.”

“You moved out here because of me,” he mused, hoping his responses were coming out natural enough not to sound suspicious.

“Moved, dragged by mom,” she laughed, and shrugged.

“You didn’t have to stay.” He considered her age. “Hell, you could have said no.”

“You remember home. It held nothing for us.” She smiled into her hot chocolate. “Mom has friends here. She has Jack. She’s happy. I mean, it sucks that we’re here because of Jess’ death, but this family is closer because of it.” She raised her eyes to Wyatt. “Do you miss her?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Every day. But… it’s easier now.”

“Because of Lucy, yeah?” Jenn threw him an all-knowing grin, and then covered it innocently with the rim of her mug.

“Okay, fine. She’s part of it,” he admitted. “I got.. some closure. And Rufus and Lucy have helped me heal.”

“That’s why mom loves them. You smile now because of them.” She gave her brother a gentle nudge. “I say it a lot, but you’re lucky to have Lucy.” Her soft smile curved up into a Logan-family smirk. “Isn’t it time to tell her you love her and put us all out of our misery?”

“Hey,” Lucy said, smiling as she entered the room. Her forehead crinkled a little at the two pairs of guilty eyes staring at her. “Mind if I join you?”

"Your ears must be burning,” Jenn said, laughing. At Lucy’s confused expression, Jenn added, “I’m actually heading to bed.” She stood, balancing her drink, and smiled. “Night you two.”

Wyatt grimaced as he watched his sister walk away. “How much of that did you hear?” he asked, turning to look at Lucy as she sat down beside him.

“You were talking about me?” Lucy asked, lifting an eyebrow.

“My sister is your biggest fan,” he informed her. “So’s my mom.”

“Your mom is younger than I expected.”

With a nod, Wyatt said, “Yeah, she was young when she had me. Sixteen.”

“Oh, wow, so she was really young when you lost her,” Lucy said, sadness weighing her down as she dipped her chin and dropped her gaze.

“Early twenties,” he confirmed. “It’s why seeing Jenn threw me so badly. Her face is so much like how I remember mom’s.”

Gazing down at Wyatt’s lap, at the photo album resting on it, Lucy felt a smile tug at her lips. “Please tell me there are naked baby Wyatt photos in there, all dimples and big blue eyes.”

He laughed, and suddenly the weight of the past was lifted from them both. “Maybe. I haven’t opened it yet.”

“Why not?”

“I was waiting for you.” And in the soft, wistful tone of his voice it was made clear to both of them he didn't just mean tonight.

A soft smile played on her lips. “I’m here now.”

He nodded, swallowed the lump in his throat with the last of the hot chocolate, placed the mug on the coffee table with a steady hand that belied his emotional state, and then sucked in a deep breath. He opened the album at the start, in a more comfortable, familiar place, where everything would be as he remembered it. And it was. Lucy cooed over the baby photos, ones he had seen before, of his mom holding him, grainy, faded photos now, where everything was that strange orangey brown hue of the early eighties with the late seventies still clinging on.

She glanced up at his head and then back to the photo. “You had so much hair,” Lucy exclaimed, pointing at his curly mop.

The dark brown curls that had lightened and straightened as he’d grown, and then darkened again in his teens.

“You were adorable.”

“Were?” he feigned hurt. “Still am, thank you very much.”

Ignoring him, Lucy turned the page. “And there’s the bare-ass baby photo,” she said, laughing.

He knew that existed. He’d kind of hoped his mom had removed it, replaced it, through the years. But no, baby him on his back, a smile on his little face (from gas, his mother had teased him as a child), and all of him on display.  
He turned the page quickly. “We didn’t have much money,” he said, his voice soft as he spoke, “but mom made up for it in love.”

Lucy laid a hand on his arm and gave it a light squeeze. “I can see it, in these photos, and now, when I see you two together.” She glanced down as he turned the page. “Is that your dad?”

Wyatt nodded. “Probably one of the few photos of him.” He turned the page, and smiled. “And that’s Grandpa Sherwin.” He said, pointing to a photo of an older man with a four or five-year-old Wyatt on his hip. “He raised me. I am who I am because of him.” That made him pause, wonder for a moment, how different the Wyatt raised by his mother had been. Grandpa Sherwin had still been in his life, and it seemed he had still gravitated to the man he admired so. He still met Jess at a young age, still married her, still followed the same career path.

Lucy smiled softly as she gazed down at the photo. “You’ve got more of your mom in you than you realise.”

“You think?” he asked, surprised by that.

“She’s strong. I watched her arguing with Jenn earlier and it was like two forces of nature colliding.”

“I heard the tail-end of that,” he told her. “I’m going to avoid an argument with either of them.”

“Might be for the best.”

Wyatt turned the pages, until his eyes landed on a photo he didn’t recognise. “Huh,” he said, studying it.

“What?”

“Reached the year where the timeline changed for me.”

Laying a hand back on his arm, Lucy gave him a reassuring smile. “You okay?”

“I think so. This is so strange.” He lifted a hand to his forehead. “Speaking of strange, do I have a scar—“

“No,” she replied, smiling as he felt around at his hairline. “No scar. You know it doesn’t work like that, right?”

“You had me convinced earlier.”

She grinned. “The past has made me a very talented actress.”

He grinned at her in return, and dropped his hand back to the album. They flipped through the pages together, and the more pages they turned, the glassier Wyatt’s eyes became.

In the photos in front of him, he looked happier than he ever remembered being. There had always been a sadness hanging over his youth after the death of his mom. In these photos, with the exception of the reminder of his father, that sadness didn’t exist. He had discovered, over dinner, thanks to Lucy, his father had been arrested a month before Jenn’s birth, and Grandpa Sherwin had made sure no one spent a second worrying about the man.

He managed to keep his emotions in check, until a photo of him and Jessica, ready for prom, sent tears trailing down his cheeks.

“My mom would have taken that photo,” he murmured. “She knew Jessica. God, that’s so strange to me.”

Lucy gripped his hand. “Bet she adored her too.”

“I hope so,” he whispered, remembering Jenn’s earlier words to him about her feelings on Jess. Swiping at the tears, he cleared his throat and turned the pages. His hand shook as he saw the engagement photo.

Lucy noticed. “Your mom was at your wedding,” she said, her voice soft.

He looked up at her, his eyes red, fresh tears forming, threatening to fall. Letting go of his hand, Lucy wrapped her arms around him and pulled him sideways against her on the couch. His shaky hand found her back, and he held on tight to her slight body, ignoring his protesting ribs.

“Hey, it’s okay,” she murmured, moving one of her hands up to thread through his hair, soothing him. “I know you missed all this, and I’m so sorry, Wyatt. I know what it’s like to look at photos and have no memories of certain people being present. But it’s okay. You have your mom now. And a sister you’re already comfortable with. It’s so good, Wyatt.”

He nodded against her. Turning, he buried his face against her neck, his nose brushing the hollow of her collarbone, and he breathed her in, taking comfort in her. He’d never been afraid to cry, but he’d never done it so openly in front of Lucy before. She just held him, and murmured soothing words, and when he was ready he pulled back and ducked his head, murmuring an apology.

“You want to finish this later?” she asked.

“No,” he said, swiping at his cheeks. “Let’s keep going.”

And there she was, his mom, in the wedding photos. The album had just one page left, and he turned to it with a shaking hand.

 _2011_ , he read at the top. Christmas with his family. All of them, him, Jess, Jenn, and his mom.

“Jessica’s last Christmas,” Lucy murmured.

He nodded. “We’d spent it at home, just the two of us. We’d had some problems that year; they spilled into 2012. Christmas had been… strained.”

“I’m sorry.”

“In this timeline, I think we still fought that night. I know I still lost her. But at least in this version of our lives we had a happier Christmas. Or it appears that way anyway.” He closed the book. “Enough of that.”

Lucy took the album from him and placed it on the coffee table.

“Thank you, for being here.”

She smiled. “You’re getting emotional again,” she told him. “Let’s go to bed.”

A smile tugged at his lips at her words, and a warmth filled him as he thought about their changing relationship, how the words ‘let’s go to bed’ held no awkwardness, and she didn’t even hesitate at the thought of sharing a bed with him. He liked it. A lot. He wanted this as their new normal, every night. He wanted to sleep next to her, sleep with her, just _be_ with her.

“You okay?” she asked, meeting his eyes, frowning at the dazed look on his face.

“I don’t even know how to answer that anymore.” And it wasn’t a lie.

“Come on,” she said, standing and reaching out a hand to him. “Jenn showed me the guest room earlier. The bed’s even bigger than we’re used to.”

He chuckled lightly at her words, and with an arm around his waist she led him to the guest room. It was a slow, painful process, but she didn’t mind. It felt nice having him so close to her. Once he was sitting on the bed, she went back for his crutches. She propped them up against the wall on his side of the bed, and at his look, said, “You’ll thank me in the morning when everything is stiff.”

He smirked at her, and she rolled her eyes. “Pervert,” she muttered, before standing and striding into the bathroom.

“I’m sorry,” he called after her.

But she turned the water on and ignored him. When she came back into the room, in a pair of sweats and a shirt from Jenn’s roommate who was apparently more Lucy’s size, face scrubbed clean of makeup, looking relaxed and refreshed, he smiled warmly at her. “You look beautiful.”

“And you’re emotional.” She reached a hand out to him to help him out, and then steered him towards the bathroom. “Your turn.” Glancing at his jeans, she asked, “You need help?”

“I’ll yell if I do.”

Once the door to the bathroom was closed she pulled the blankets back and slipped beneath the sheets. The line between them was so blurred now. Here she was, in his mom’s home, about to share a bed with him because… Donna assumed they did this already? Or she knew they shared beds while working? Did she think they were secretly dating and not ready to tell anyone? Or was this her cheeky way of pushing them together? And she had heard Jenn’s words earlier, although she had managed to hide that from them both. Was it true? Did he love her? If the past week hadn’t been such a mess, of wounds and new family members, she might have even found the courage to have that conversation with him. About her own feelings.

Now, knowing he cared for her, knowing he maybe even loved her, she was ready. But he wasn’t. She couldn’t drag him through more emotional stuff. So she pushed it all down just a little deeper, and pretended sharing a bed with him wasn’t what she wanted for the rest of her life.

The door opened, and she watched as he limped back into the bedroom, every step slow, pained, but too stubborn to use the crutches. He was clad in just his underwear, briefs and an undershirt, but her eyes fell to his leg. The new, white dressing she had helped apply stood out on his tanned skin, but it was clean, with no fresh blood, so at least all his walking on it hadn’t torn a stitch.

His eyes crinkled at the corners as she lifted her gaze to his. “Oh stop,” she said, shaking her head. “I was making sure you hadn’t bleed all over your new dressing.”

He chuckled and slipped beneath the blankets beside her. “I checked it. Looks good.”

“You should still use the crutches,” she told him.

“I should,” he agreed, settling in. “But I won’t.”

“Yeah.” A sad smile tugged at her lips and she opened her mouth to ask him how he was when he saw it coming, closed his eyes and let out a sigh as he eased his broken body along the mattress. “Hint taken,” she told him, reaching out to flick off the bedside lamp.

“Sorry,” he replied in the darkness. “Just tired.”

“I know.” She settled in, and neither commented on the sleeping arrangement, no jokes, nothing, just silence. The silence stretched, just his soft breathing, the sounds of the bedsheets as she shifted, trying to get comfortable, filled the room. She accidentally huffed out a louder breath than she’d meant to as she rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. She felt useless, lying there beside him, needing to help him, not even able to imagine everything he was feeling. She was about to shift again, to roll away from him, when his hand found hers beneath the covers and he laced their fingers together, squeezing gently. With her hand in his, she rolled to face him, bringing them closer on the large bed. Leaning in, she pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, and then settled back again and closed her eyes.

The last thing she heard before sleep claimed her was a whispered, loving, “Thank you, Luce.”

 

* * *

 

She awoke to sunlight streaming in through the blinds they hadn’t closed last night. It danced over his still form beside her, his body still so close to hers. They could have slept on opposite side, with distance between them. Instead, they’d slept closer to the middle, hands no longer joined, but arms brushing beneath the heavy blanket. Turning onto her side, Lucy tucked a hand under her pillow and studied him in the bright room. They weren’t a tangle of limbs, so she knew neither had had a nightmare of any kind – but even that wasn’t an indication of such things anymore. Just twenty-four hours previous she had awoken to him hugging her close to him while he slept. And upon awaking, he’d just smirked at her and said, “You were warm,” as he shuffled back to his side.  
She wanted that now, the contact, his warm body against hers. Biting her lower lip, she made up her mind, and carefully eased herself closer to him, until she curled her body into his side, mindful of his injuries, resting her head on the edge of his pillow, so not to put any weight on or near his ribs.

She loved him. She did. Lying there, the orange hues of daylight warming his sleeping, relaxed features, she couldn’t deny it anymore.

Lucy Preston was in love with Wyatt Logan.


	6. Chapter 6

“Your mom just invited me for Christmas.” Lucy held her phone up for Wyatt to see. She stood before him, face scrubbed clean of the makeup she had worn for their mission back to the sixties, hair out of its up do and resting in loose curls just below her shoulders, back in her jeans and a t-shirt and ready to call it a night.  
  
He had known that text was coming. He’d spent a couple of evenings at his mom’s home the past few weeks, still battling with his emotions every time he saw her, but starting to find a level of comfort he thought he’d lost almost thirty years ago. And when she had asked why he had been so emotional over Thanksgiving, he conceded, with as much truth as he could, that his team had been through a few close calls, Lucy’s hitting him the hardest, and on top of that he had reconnected with someone after a long time, and with his own injuries it had all just crept up on him.  
And then Christmas had come up in conversation. It had slipped out, last Sunday over dinner, that Lucy and her mom were going through some things and he hated the thought of her spending the day alone. The sparkle in his own mother’s eyes had caused him to groan.  
And now here she was, standing in front of him, reading aloud the text he had been expecting his mom to send.  
  
“You got a better offer?”  
  
She shook her head. “Not yet.”  
  
“Then make sure you pack an overnight bag this time. Festivities kick off the night before.”  
  
“I sense you and your mom have already had this conversation.”  
  
He nodded, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Hey, Luce? Spend Christmas with me?”  
  
She couldn’t say no.  
  


* * *

  
He caught her the day before Christmas Eve, rushing out without saying goodbye to the team. Unlike her.  
  
“Lucy?” he called, jogging to catch her before she reached her car. “Hey, Luce? Wait.”  
  
Lucy stopped in the middle of the parking area, and turned, a slight frown on her face. “You okay?”  
  
“Yeah,” he puffed the word out, stopping in front of her. “I was going to ask you the same.”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“Rufus and I were going to get a drink. Thought you might come?”  
  
“Oh,” she said, an apologetic look on her face. “Tell Rufus I’m sorry. I have something to do tonight.”  
  
“A date?” he asked, disappointment in his voice. He was an idiot. He was too late. All he’d needed was just one more day…  
  
She smiled. “Not a date. I need gifts. For your family.”  
  
“Oh, no,” he said, shaking his head. Relief washed through him, warming him. “You don’t need to—“  
  
“Yes,” she said firmly. “I do. I’ve been invited to your mom’s for Christmas. I’m not turning up empty-handed.”  
  
“I can’t imagine my mother would expect anything.”  
  
“Doesn’t matter,” she told him. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some shopping to do.” She turned towards her car, poised to unlock it with the press of the fob, when she caught his reflection in the glass. She caught the little, pleased smile playing on his face, before he began to walk away. No, Wyatt. Not a date. Still waiting for you to ask.  
She sighed as she slid into her car. Maybe Christmas would make her brave. Eggnog often had that effect on her.  
  


* * *

  
  
He pulled up outside Lucy’s home a little after Seven pm on Christmas Eve. The mothership remained in 2017, which meant they could too. He silently begged Emma to be with her family, to leave the mothership and lifeboat together in a temporal no man’s land, and allow a truce. Even if he only spent tonight with his family, it was more than he’d been allowed for a long time, so he made a deal with himself – in case Emma wasn’t so kind – that he wouldn’t expect a single second, but would cherish every one of them.  
And he was cherishing a few now. He watched as Lucy stepped out of her home, an over-night bag over one shoulder, a large Nordstrom bag dangling from her fingers, her phone and keys in her other hand, hastily grabbed on her way out the door. She pulled the door shut with her foot, and smiled as he exited his car and moved to meet her at the trunk.  
  
“How many people did you buy for?” he asked, eyeing the store’s rather generous sized bag, trying to peek inside.  
  
“Four,” she announced as she moved the bag from his view, and placed it in the trunk, her over-night bag going in next.  
  
“Four?”  
  
“Yeah, a little something for both your mom and Jack, who I assume will be there. A few things for Jenn, all of which were pure guesswork. Your mom was easier, having already seen her home.”  
  
“Okay, that’s three.”  
  
“And you,” she said on a sigh, annoyed he was making her say it out loud.  
  
His face lit up. “You bought me something?”  
  
The default would have been to tease him before he got there first, but his pleased smile stopped her. “Of course,” she said, her voice warm. “You’re important to me.” At the softness in his blue eyes, she added, “Plus we’d just returned from 1934 last Christmas, and things were a bit… strange between us and none of us exchanged gifts. I’m making up for that now.”  
  
“Was that really a year ago?” he asked, wondering where the time had gone, and then almost laughing at that thought. When life was spent moving back and forth through time it was hard sometimes to keep track of how much was actually passing. One whole year since 1934 – since he last kissed her.  
  
Lucy gave him a smile as she nodded. He closed the trunk, and moved to the passenger side, opening the door for her. He did it without even thinking, like so many things with her. Offering her a hand as she stepped in or out of the time machine, checking her safety belt by giving it a satisfying tug after she had buckled it in the lifeboat (he used to buckle it for her too, but after The Alamo she had batted his hand away, and said, 'if they fire you I’m gonna need to be able to do this myself'). Once she was settled, he closed the door with a gentle click, and smiled softly to himself as he moved around the car.  
  
One year since he last kissed her? Too long. Maybe Christmas would make him brave.  
  


* * *

  
  
“You nervous?” she asked as he drove them to his mom’s. She had been fussing with the radio for a good fifteen minutes, before giving up, plucking his iPhone from the compartment between them, and playing his iTunes via Bluetooth.  
  
He didn’t even bat an eye as she punched in his passcode and scrolled through his phone.  
  
“Oh, thank God,” she said, settling on a playlist. “This car is a Christmas carol-free zone for the next hour.”  
  
“I would have picked you as a fan.”  
  
“Amy was,” she said, her voice softer now. “It was all Christmas songs, all the time, with her. It was nice. But without her… they just make me miss her more,” she finished, shrugging.  
  
“Amy is,” Wyatt corrected. “None of this past tense. You’ll get her back.”  
  
“It’s been so long. I’m starting to—“  
  
“No, Luce, don’t. 2018, it’s going to happen. Keep the faith.”  
  
“She would have liked you.” She gave him a small smile. “When Mom got sick, Amy was the one who started the Snickers ritual.”  
  
“The what?”  
  
“Mom’s favorite candy bar,” Lucy began, placing his phone back in the empty drink holder, Pearl Jam filling the air. “When mom went into palliative care Amy would still bring her one, every week. I likened it to bringing flowers to a grave, but Amy put a more positive spin on it. Soon both of us were doing it. It helped me to keep the faith.”  
  
“That your mom would recover?”  
  
“No. Her cancer was terminal. But for more time with her, more moments of lucidity. I just wanted to hear her voice again.” She sighed.  
  
“One day, we’ll put it right. Hey, maybe even slip Henry Wallace some Nicotine patches when we finally make it to ’79.”  
  
She smiled at that. “You remembered his name.”  
  
“I remember everything you tell me.”  
  
Her breath caught in her lungs at that admission, and she looked away, flicking her gaze out the passenger’s side window, and smothering her smile with a forced yawn and a hand over her mouth.  
  
“If you want to sleep I’ll wake you when we get there.”  
  
“I’m good,” she replied. “What was Christmas like when you were a kid? With your mom, I mean.”  
  
“It was nice,” he replied. “I don’t have a lot of memories, but the night before was just me and my mom, and Grandpa Sherwin. My dad was… elsewhere.” He gave her a look that clearly said bar. “We had a small tree, decorated with what few baubles she could afford, and paper chains she and I had made. My mom was an avid reader – still is. We started A Christmas Carol that year. It was going to become a tradition, to reread a little every year.” He shrugged. “It was nice. Simple, but nice. With my mom and Grandpa Sherwin, I never felt like I missed out.”  
  
“It sounds nice.”  
  
“And for you?”  
  
“Ridiculous. Lavish,” she admitted. “Mom and Amy baked, I put finishing touches on the tree and the house. We ate too much, laughed a lot. When she got sick, I mean, really sick, the last Christmas together before losing Amy, she sat on the couch, because standing was too hard for her. But she still laughed with us, even though I knew she was scared. Not that she’d ever admit to that.”  
  
“You Prestons are a stubborn bunch.”  
  
“And the Logans aren’t?”  
  
He grinned. “Touché.”  
  
A soft smile played on her lips. “And Christmas day was all about food, and gifts, and remembering those lost.”  
  
“If the whole family thing gets too much,” he began, his eyes flitting from the road to briefly meet hers, “don’t feel like you can’t escape to the guest room for a breather. I wouldn’t judge you. No one in my family would.”  
  
“They wouldn’t even know why.”  
  
“They know you lost your sister,” he admitted. “I had a vague conversation with my mom about it. And I may have mentioned that things with your own mom are currently… strained.” He gave her a cautious look. “I hope that’s okay.”  
  
Lucy nodded. “It’s fine.”  
  
“I’m sorry.”  
  
“No, no, don’t be,” she assured him. “It’s better, them knowing. Because I might need that breather.” She yawned again, a real one this time. “Okay, maybe I will just close my eyes for a bit.”  
  
“I’ll wake you when we get there.”  
  
Her eyes fluttered shut and she relaxed in the chair, head lolling to one side, her body gently moving with the motion of the car, lightly jostled by the small bumps beneath the wheels that the suspension couldn’t completely absorb.  
  


* * *

  
Lucy awoke as they pulled up outside his mom’s home, blinking away the cobwebs of sleep, to find him gazing softly at her. A warmth fluttered in her stomach. There was a fondness in his eyes for her now, something she’d been seeing more of since meeting Jenn. They’d spent a lot more time together recently, helped one another through injuries, offered emotional support, and she felt they were closer now. They were comfortable sharing a bed. They were even able to bring up what they meant to one another – but not quite able to take that final step towards being something more. Something in his eyes now made her wonder if he was about to kiss her. If he just started leaning in, or let his eyes dip to her lips, gave her some sort of indication she wouldn’t make a fool out of herself if she made a move. She missed the feel of his lips on hers.  
  
But he blinked, looked away, like a sudden shyness had engulfed him. “We’re here,” he said, before pushing open his door and leaving her alone and a little confounded. Maybe she was just going to have to do it. Just to know if it was actually an option. She sighed and opened her own door while he slung bags over his shoulders and juggled the luggage.  
  
It was a quiet walk up the path, but when she moved to knock, he murmured, “let me,” arranged the luggage at his feet, and flashed her a grin.  
  
With a steady hand, he rapped his knuckles on the door – shaking the leaves on the Christmas wreath with each knock. “Done this a couple of times since Thanksgiving.” One thing he wouldn’t do was take his family for granted. He didn’t know exactly what had come to pass to allow him more time with his mother, to gift him a sister, but he knew just as easily as things were given, they could be taken away. He might return one day to again being the only child he had always been. Or, worse, to have lost them both. He thought about it a lot too, on missions. Whose life in the future he was taking with one bullet in the past. He still protected his team, but his kill shots were fewer now.  
  
Lucy brought a hand up to her face, she skimmed her fingers under her eyes to tidy her mascara, and then combed her fingers through her hair. “Do I look okay? Or do I look like I slept the entire drive.”  
  
“You look beautiful.” At Lucy’s surprised smile, he said, his tone firmer, “You look fine, stop worrying.”  
  
“I liked your first answer better,” she grumbled.  
  
The door opened and Wyatt was pulled into a hug before he could even say hi.  
  
“You’re late,” Donna chastised, flashing Lucy a smile over her son’s shoulder as she spoke.  
  
“Work,” he replied, returning the embrace now the surprise of the sudden hug had eased.  
  
His mom pulled back, releasing him and reaching for Lucy before either of them could blink. “So pleased you could make it.”  
  
“Thank you for the invitation,” Lucy said, a little stunned by the strength of the hug.  
  
“Lucy’s still getting used to other people hugging her,” Wyatt chimed in. “She’s usually the one to fling herself at people.”  
  
Both women pulled back and gave him a look.  
  
“Uh… We bought gifts,” he tried, holding up Lucy’s Nordstrom bag and nodding down at his own overnight bag, which was filled with a few little things.  
  
Donna ushered them inside, pointing them to the guestroom, shaking her head at her son as he failed to smother a yawn. “Luckily for you two you didn’t miss much. Jenn and I finished a few last-minute things, and all that’s left now is…”  
At Wyatt’s confused, tired look, Donna sighed and said, “A Christmas Carol.”  
  
He brightened, feeling suddenly wide awake as he adjusted the bags more securely on his shoulders and stood a little straighter. “Wouldn’t have missed that for the world.”  
  
“Thank goodness, because Jenn’s already in bed. Said she couldn’t sit through it again. But I knew you wouldn’t let me down.”  
  
“Never.”  
  
Lucy threw him a warm smile. “Would you mind if I joined you?” she asked Donna. “Wyatt told me about it in the car and—“  
  
“Lucy, my dear, I hoped you’d say that.”  
  
Lucy laughed. “Good.”  
  
“We’ll just drop our gear in the room and be back.”  
  
“Go,” Donna said, ushering them towards the guestroom. “You’ve got five minutes.”  
  
Laughing, Lucy followed Wyatt as they carried the bags to the room they’d shared last time.  
Her laugh turned into one of surprise when she saw the large sprig of mistletoe hanging from the bedroom door.  
  
“I’m going to kill Jenn,” Wyatt muttered, dropping his bag on the bed. He turned, to find she’d hung another from the interconnecting bathroom’s door frame too. “Really kill her.”  
  
Still smiling, Lucy placed her bags on the floor beside the bed, turned back to him, and flung her arms around him, holding him tight as she pressed her face into his shoulder. His arms instantly came up and circled her waist, and she felt his breath ruffling her hair. She swept a light kiss across his cheek as she pulled back. At his surprised expression, she whispered, “Thank you for inviting me.”  
  
She didn’t linger, she pulled away and left the room. But he stayed behind, taking a moment to catch his breath. Unzipping his bag with a shaking hand, he pocketed a small gift, and then followed her back to the living room. He was ready. He was so ready. And he wasn’t going to put it off any more.  
  


* * *

  
Lucy sat on the couch enraptured in the words of the novel, like she was hearing them for the first time. But something about Lucy told Wyatt she was very much familiar with A Christmas Carol. Her legs were tucked under her on the couch, a mug of warm, mulled wine cradled in her palms, leaning forward to catch every word his mother spoke.  
Wyatt’s eyes flittered from Lucy to his mom, and he smiled at the small smile permanently on her lips as she read aloud. She loved this tradition, it was so evident on her face, in her voice, and he saw then what she must have looked like, how she’d felt, the first Christmas she opened the book, him at six years old, sitting on the floor beside the tree, his fingers playing with the prickly needles of the pine tree, because the book wasn’t too interesting to him at that age.  
Had her Wyatt, the one who had grown up with a mother, come to love the book, or the tradition?  
  
“I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future. The Spirits of all Three shall strive within me. I will not shut out the lessons that they teach!”  
  
The words struck a chord as his mom read them aloud, and he blinked in surprise.  
  
“You okay?” Donna asked. She’d stopped reading, having seen her son’s sudden reaction.  
  
“Fine,” he replied, shaking off the stupor. He exhaled through his nose in amusement. “It’s nothing. Carry on.”  
He felt Lucy’s eyes boring into him, and he turned to meet them as his mom began to read again. He flashed her a smile, and she raised an eyebrow in mild amusement, the words holding meaning for her to.  
  
“Merry Christmas!”  
  
Wyatt blinked, his mom’s words snapping his attention away from Lucy. “It’s over?” he asked in surprise, seeing the closed book in her hands.  
  
“No, but it’s almost midnight and I’m beat.” She shook her head. “And I would think by now you’d know that’s not the last line.”  
  
“Right, of course,” he said, smiling. “Tired.”  
  
“We’ll finish this tomorrow. You two get some rest. Lord knows I need it.”  
  
Wyatt chuckled lightly. “Thanks, mom.” He reached for her and gave her a gentle hug. “Merry Christmas.”  
  
No sooner had he released her then her arms were reaching for Lucy, pulling her in for a hug, mindful of the mug of warm liquid Lucy somehow managed to keep from spilling over them both.  
  
“Merry Christmas, Mrs. Logan.” They both knew now, thanks to Jiya, that his mom had kept her last name through the years, and Lucy hadn’t quite been able to call her by her first name, having been brought up to be respectful.  
  
Donna huffed out a sigh of annoyance, that was anything but serious. “Lucy, my dear,” she began, pulling back, “for Christmas this year all I ask is you give me the gift of calling me Donna.”  
  
Smiling broadly, Lucy said, “I think I can do that.”  
  
“I’ll believe it when I hear it,” she replied, only humor in her tone. “Now, good night you two.” She stood, leaving the book on the coffee table, and left them alone in the quiet room. But not before she flicked the light switch on her way out, just the crackling fire and the lights of the Christmas tree illuminating the room.  
  
Wyatt flashed Lucy a smirk. “You’re in trouble.”  
  
“Your mom loves me, remember,” she said, grinning at him. “If anyone in this room is likely to get in trouble, it’s you.”  
  
“Ah, but don’t you remember, according to Jenn, I’m the favorite.”  
  
Settling back, Lucy murmured, “Oh I remember.” Her eyes met his and a soft smile played on her lips. “Thank you for letting me be part of your family this Christmas.”  
  
He sat back, mirroring her until they were side-by-side, settling into the billowing couch cushions, and swallowed down the reply that would have completely exposed his heart to her. The one that sounded a lot like, ‘you’ve been a part of this family for a while now’.  
  
“So, I got you something, and si—”  
  
“You got me something?” she asked, her voice lilting in pleased surprise.  
  
Inhaling a deep breath, Wyatt reached into his pocket and pulled the box out. He held it out for Lucy, and once she had placed her empty mug on the coffee table, beside the novel, he placed the box in her palm. “It’s just something small.” He shrugged, suddenly feeling unsure about his choice. Her fingers skimmed over the lid of the box, the tortoiseshell pattern made from leather, her lips parted but remaining silent as she examined it. “I hope it’s okay.”  
  
Smiling, Lucy raised her eyes to his, holding his gaze for a beat, before looking back down at the box in her hand and carefully lifting the lid.  
  
“It’s Edwardian,” he said, rambling a little now.  
  
“1910,” she said on a breathy exhale as the box opened to reveal the gold, emerald drop earrings that had caught her eye months ago on a jump.  
  
“Yeah,” he replied, his voice still hesitant. “You went back for a second look in that window.”  
  
Lucy ran a finger tip across the emeralds, tears welling in her eyes.  
  
“You don’t wear a lot of jewelry in your down time, but I figured if they caught your eye it was for a reason.”  
  
“It was.” A tear escaped, trailing through what remained of her make up.  
  
“Amy?”  
  
“Her favorite earrings, given to her by our grandmother on her thirteenth birthday. She rarely wore them,” Lucy told him, tears contained now, but her eyes still watery. “Only for special occasions.”  
  
“And that’s them? Or a version of them, I guess.”  
  
A soft laugh of disbelief left her lips. “Yeah. They were a popular design in the early 1900s. I wasn’t surprised to see them in that display, but a lot of emotions came back.” She lifted her eyes to his and tilted her head slightly. “You went back for them?”  
  
“I did,” he replied. “So, they’re new antiques, I guess.”  
  
She closed the box and closed her palm around it, gripping it tight. Reaching for him, she threw both arms around his neck, and buried her face into his shoulder, murmuring a, “thank you,” into his shirt.  
  
Tightening his own arms around her waist, he said, “Merry Christmas, Lucy.”  
  
Her body shaking as she chuckled, she replied, “Merry Christmas, Wyatt.” She lingered, reluctant to pull away, but did so before the hug could go too long, and sat back, opening her palm again to look at the box.  
  
“Box came with them,” he told her. “It’s Edwardian too.”  
  
“It’s beautiful. The earrings are beautiful. You shouldn’t have bought them, but thank you so much.”  
  
He just nodded, and let his eyes drift shut, relaxing in the moment, letting the feeling of being in his mom’s home, celebrating Christmas with her again, being with Lucy, wash over him until it sunk in as he sank into the couch.  
  
“You coping okay?” she asked, her voice low.  
  
“Surprisingly okay.”  
  
“You wanna talk? Or just…be…”  
  
“Just be.”  
  
“Okay,” she said softly.  
  
He cracked open an eye, to make sure he wasn’t about to accidentally smack her in the face, and eased an arm around her shoulders. He tugged her to him, until her warm, relaxed body melded to his, and he smiled gently as her head found his shoulder. The box stayed curled securely in her palm, her closed fist resting on her stomach.  
  
“If you’re not careful you’ll fall asleep.”  
  
“I’ve slept in worse places,” she said, her voice fading as she spoke.  
  
“A forest in the 1700s for one.”  
  
“That hotel room in nineteen thirty,” she murmured. “The floor of the lifeboat.”  
  
He groaned. “I think that night was the worst.”  
  
“Only because Rufus kept kicking me in the back.”  
  
“Yeah, who knew he was a kicker? Poor Jiya.”  
  
Lucy huffed out a sleepy laugh. “She loves him though, so she doesn’t mind.”  
  
They fell silent, both feeling something akin to a word she just spoke aloud, and letting the realization of that seep deep within them until it was too steadfast to be ignored.  
  
“Come on,” he said, his nose brushing the crown of her head. “Let’s go to bed.”  
  
“Mmmmm,” she hummed in agreement.  
  
She was boneless as he eased her off the couch and to her feet. His arm slipped around her waist and he walked slowly as she shuffled at his side, her hip bumping his, her cheek smashed into his upper arm, almost sleep walking to the room. But her hand never loosened its grip on the little leather jewelry box. He smirked as she failed to smother a yawn with her hand, and instead used his arm.  
   
“You’re not gonna fall asleep on the toilet, are you?”  
  
“No promises,” she replied, ungluing herself from his side and almost tripping on her way to the bathroom.  
  
“Maybe don’t lock the door – just in case.”  
  
He heard her chuckle as she closed the door, and smiled to himself when the lock wasn’t pushed in.  He changed quickly while the water ran, into pajama pants and an Astros t-shirt. Pulling the sheets down on both sides, he smiled down at the bed. Another night with her at his side. He wanted it forever.  
  
He was in love with her.  
  
The door opened, and she nodded sleepily at him from the threshold. “All yours,” she told him, making her way back to the bed.  
  
Watching silently as she placed the box with care on the bedside table, he wondered if she had held them up to her ears in the bathroom, admiring them in the mirror. Perhaps Amy had let her wear her pair on occasion. The earrings, he guessed, had disappeared with Amy. Or if they’d never been given to her by their grandmother, perhaps they sat in a box in her mother’s bedroom, waiting to be passed on to Lucy. He lingered in the doorway as she sat on the edge, running her fingers through her loose hair, oblivious to his eyes on her.  
  
He loved her.  
  
He closed the bathroom door and let out a soft sigh.  
  
He had to tell her.  
  


* * *

  
  
Lucy combed her fingers through her hair one final time and reached for the hair tie – only to realize it wasn’t on the bed beside her. Oh, right, it was in the bathroom, beside the basin, where she’d left it. Making her way to the bathroom, hoping he was almost done, she knocked. “Can you bring my hair tie out?”  
  
She had planned to then head to the bed and crawl under the blankets, but he opened the door, stood in front of her, a whisper away, and asked, “Your what?”  
  
“My—” Her brain remembered something then, and she looked up. The sprig of mistletoe still hung between then, on her side of the door, tied to ribbon that was taped to the frame. Her gaze dropped to his eyes, and then lower to his lips. She inhaled a breath of courage, stood on the tips of her toes, noticed he was leaning forward, and met him in the middle.  
  
Her lips brushed his with a sleepy softness, and she swayed on her toes, until his warm palms curled at her waist and steadied her. He didn’t deepen the kiss, but returned it with the same gentle pressure she had initiated, a hesitant, but hopeful, whisper-like caress. Softer than the first time they’d kissed, in a cabin, in the thirties, but with emotions they felt now and not realizations that had hit them afterwards.  
  
She eased back first, her teeth catching her lower lip once the contact had ceased, feeling warm but still unsure. “Mistletoe,” she murmured, flashing him a smile.  
  
He grinned back at her, turned, slipped her hair tie from the counter top and into his palm, and then followed her back to the bed, around to her side. Before she could sit, he reached for her, laying one palm on her waist, and tugging her forward until their lips met again. Framing his face with her hands, she kissed him harder this time, parting her lips and sighing into his mouth.  
  
He broke the kiss and shrugged. “No excuses this time.”  
  
“No,” she agreed, a little breathless now.  
  
Gesturing for her to sit, he moved beside her, and turned her away from him with gentle hands on her hips. Before she could ask what he was doing, he was carefully sectioning her hair into three, and braiding it with skilled hands.  
  
“You’ve done this before,” she whispered, her heart so full in her chest it felt like bursting.  
  
“For Jess,” he confirmed, finishing the braid and tying the elastic around the end. He knew she preferred to sleep with braided hair, he’d seen her do it herself, sitting on the edge of a bed in the past, many times. Occasionally in his own home too.  
  
It didn’t hurt, bringing up Jess’ name, didn’t force any awkwardness between them. It felt good to remember her at Christmas, while passing something he’d done for comfort onto the women he was in love with now.  
  
Moving around the bed, he slipped under the covers while she mirrored him.  
Opening his arms, he smiled as she rolled into them, curling her body against his side and resting her head on his chest. He laced his fingers through hers, rested their joined hands above his heart, beside her parted lips, and said, “I’m not going to try anything else tonight, not while we’re under my mother’s roof, and both so tired we can barely function, but…” He dropped a kiss to the crown of her head, and smiled into her hair as she snuggled deeper into him. “Tomorrow night is another story.”  
  
“I’m holding you to it,” she said on an exhale.  
  
“Merry Christmas, Luce,” he whispered into her hair – but she was already asleep.  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Her stomach fluttered as she woke up and found herself wrapped protectively in his arms. A warmth engulfed her, and her emotions brought tears to her eyes. She was in love with this man.  
  
“Hey, what’s up?”  
  
Wyatt’s voice, pure gravel as he fought the lingering haze of sleep, snapped her back, and she blinked and met his worried gaze across the one pillow they were sharing.  
  
“You look… surprised?” He grinned at her. “Did you forget we slept together last night.” He waggled an eyebrow.  
  
“No, I—“ She hesitated. “I know you’re joking but I’m about to get serious.”  
  
“Are you okay?” he asked, his own tone serious now.  
  
“Yeah,” she said, the word coming out on a low puff of laughter. “I’m fine. I’m really good, actually.”  
  
“Okay,” he said slowly, frowning.  
  
“I just realized something.”  
  
He nodded, silently urging her on.  
  
“I… I’m …”  
  
He chuckled as she fumbled, and he reached for her hand and laced their fingers together. Bringing their joined hands up between them, he pressed both to his chest and held her watery gaze. “You don’t have to say it, Luce.”  
  
“You don’t even know what I’m trying to say,” she lamented.  
  
“Oh,” he said, tugging her closer with their joined hands. “I think I do.” Leaning in, he met her lips with his, mouths coming together in a sweet kiss. “I love you too,” he breathed into her mouth.  
  
She could remember the last time she’d said it, but she hadn’t meant it. This was the first time she had meant it, and yet she couldn’t get the words out to actually say it.  
  
A knocking at the door startled them both, breaking the kiss too soon.  
  
“You two alive in there?” Jenn called through the door. “The presents aren’t opening themselves y’know.”  
  
Lucy laughed while Wyatt groaned. “We’re up,” he groused loudly. “Be there soon.”  
  
“You both have literally five minutes to get your asses out here or I’m starting without you.”  
  
“No, you’re not,” they heard Donna yell.  
  
“I think we better get up,” Lucy whispered.  
  
“I really don’t want to,” he replied, resting his palm on her cheek and leaning in.  
  
“Are you guys decent?” Jenn called.  
  
“No,” Wyatt threw back, taking his attention off Lucy just long enough for the one word.  
  
“I don’t care if you’re sucking face, I just want to know if you’re fully dressed.” There was a pause, then, “I just need to know if I’m about to see something I’ll regret when I open this door.”  
  
“Do not open the door,” Wyatt warned.  
  
“Are you decent?’ Jenn tried again.  
  
The mood completely ruined, Lucy shook her head at Wyatt, and replied, “We’re decent.”  
  
The door flew open and a grinning Jenn stood under the threshold. The grin faded, and her eyes narrowed. “Wait… You actually were sucking face just then, weren’t you?”  
  
At Lucy’s blush the grin lit up Jenn’s face again. “I knew that mistletoe would do the trick. Mom was completely over waiting for you two to get your shit together.”  
  
Wyatt just shook his head. “Should have known you both had something to do with that.”  
  
“Team effort.” Seeing them both still in the bed, she sighed. “Seriously, get up. You don’t even need to change.” She gestured to herself, still in her pajamas. “We’re pretty casual here, Lucy.”  
  
“I’ve noticed.”  
  
“Five minutes, and then I’m coming back for you both. Trust me, it’s best you find your own way to the living room within that time.” She flashed them both another grin. “I’m really happy for you both, by the way. I’ve always wanted a sister.” And with that, she stepped out and closed the door behind her, leaving them both a little stunned.  
  
“Hurricane Jenn strikes again,” Wyatt said, lifting an eyebrow.  
  
Leaning in, Lucy brushed her lips across his, and then eased back, smiling softly. “Come on, let’s do this the proper Logan way – in our pajamas.” At his raised eyebrow, she added, “And at your place tonight we can do something without pajamas.”  
  
“Deal!” he said, pushing himself off the bed and then coming around to take her hand and help her to her feet.  
  
Lucy smiled as he looped an arm around her shoulders and drew her to him, guiding her towards the door. She had recently lost so much of her own family. Amy was still missing, and her mom was hardly recognizable to her anymore, but here in the warmth of the Logan home, she had found a new family, one they were both learning to navigate – together.  
  
_End._  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it. The end. Thank you for reading this crazy attempt to give Wyatt a little something after so much he's lost (I really hope his mom's still alive in canon). If you enjoyed this fic, leave a note below in the comments. Your thoughts mean so much to me. 
> 
> And, author's getting sappy but, Timeless really has given me such a wonderful distraction from cancer treatment. I inhaled the series when I got diagnosed, and then wrote most of my fic while getting hauled through chemo. I posted through surgery, and now radiation (which I'm halfway through! yay!), and every review I've received has just been the loveliest little boost during crappy times. 
> 
> I'm a little bit behind on reading myself, but I'm looking forward to catching up on all the fics posted recently. 
> 
> All you readers and writers, all you clockblockers, you're my Timeless fandom family. So, really, thank you all so much. For reading my words, and for your words. <3


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